


all that

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Series: tear the word [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Superbuddies to Lovers, ft. appearances by various Steelheads and Hockey Canada boys, needless references to "The Simple Life"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: If Mikey gets a soulmate soon, he’ll have to explain the whole Nate situation.Not– not that there's a real Natesituation, per se, but it’s just– Mikey has Nate, and it’s kind of a thing.(Or: there very much is a Nate situation. There's also a Mikey situation. Eventually, they realize this.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%
> 
> Thanks to Ali for every fucking comment she left, because they all made me smile; thanks to ftc for fixing my mistakes, even though I've found a way to circumnavigate my inability to type a capital "M" and follow it with a lowercase "i." Thanks to tots for taking time out of their day to read this, and for leaving some truly beautiful and lovely feedback, and for coming up with the update schedule. Thanks to Ciara for pointing out that Alex was drafted 8th overall, not 7th, and for reading this at the speed of light. Thanks to queen of fic titles, Carly Rae Jepsen, for the song that named this, and every other song on E•mo•tion/E•mo•tion Side B. Thanks to everyone who I bothered for advice on this fic, honestly, esp. everyone who responded to my tumblr posts seeking vague advice, especially [gauthboy](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/post/164634102909/credit-where-credit-is-due-to-gauthboy), who came up with #soulbuddies
> 
> Not that much hockey actually happens in the story, but the hockey we do see is all accurate! Real world events were minorly altered for the sake of The Narrative in very inconsequential ways. 
> 
> Oh, wristguards in this ‘verse are pretty much just incredibly adhesive bandages that you can shower with, and are supposed to be changed every 4-6 months.
> 
> See endnotes for more tagged things (ft. potential spoilers) and bonus content!

  **(Mikey)**

“Fuck Marns,” Dylan says, finishing off his beer. “Fuck Marns and his soulmate.”

“Sucks, buddy,” Mikey says, and grabs Dylan another can unprompted, because he’s a good friend.

“It’s annoying, because I just got dumped and I don’t even _like_ the kid, y’know?” Dylan says. “He’s a little shit.”

“That’s bullshit, you love him,” Mikey says. “I mean, not, like, love-love, but you’re bros.”

“We used to be bros who banged,” Dylan says, whining and wistful at the same time.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other way to get your dick wet,” Mikey says, patting Dylan on the back.

“No, everyone who would ever sleep with me is too busy having a soulmate instead,” Dylan says.

“You could go back to drooling over McDavid,” Mikey suggests, and Dylan claps a hand over Mikey’s mouth, because he’s a fucking drama queen.

“Shut up,” Dylan whispers, frantically looking around, like somehow McJesus is just going to appear in Mikey’s kitchen and listen in on their conversation.

“Oh my god,” Mikey says, fighting Dylan off. “We’re the only people in this house.”

“Sorry, habit,” Dylan says, and Mikey personally thinks it’s a pretty fucking weird habit to develop, but Dylan’s a pretty fucking weird guy, and Erie’s a pretty fucking weird team, so maybe shit like that flies down there.

“Alright,” Mikey says, because really, he wants to be a good friend about this. “Well, I’m just saying, what happened with that?”

“He’s in Edmonton,” Dylan says, which isn’t really an answer, but whatever.

“I’m sorry,” Mikey says.

Dylan just shrugs, brushing it off. “Still nameless, eh?” he says, his eyes flicking to Mikey’s left wrist.

Mikey nods. “No one yet,” he says. “Like it should be. We’re young.”

“Yeah. I told Marns he was fucking screwed,” Dylan says. “Seriously, he’s 18 and he’s already on soulmate alert.”

“Did you find out what the name was?” Mikey asks.

“Auston,” Dylan says. “With an o. I told him it was probably Matthews.”

“D’you really think so?” Mikey asks.

Dylan shrugs. “Could be. Might mean Matthews is going to the Leafs this year.”

“Does this mean we should put money on the Leafs getting the first pick?” Mikey asks.

“Eh,” Dylan says, “putting money on the Leafs is a dangerous game.”

“True,” Mikey says. “Sorry about Marns.”

“It’s whatever,” Dylan says, and takes another sip.  

* * *

Mikey tells Nate about this new development the next day before practice.

“Sucks for both of ‘em,” Nate says.

“Mostly Dylan,” Mikey says.

“I dunno,” Nate says. “I’d probably, like, have a crisis if I had a name.”

This isn’t news to Mikey. Nate doesn’t want a soulmate, never has and probably never will, no matter how many times people tell him he’ll “change his mind when he gets older.” Mikey doesn’t really get it, but his parents are both nameless and very happy together, so he knows it’s, like, a thing.

“I don’t think I’d mind,” Mikey says. “I wouldn’t wanna know yet, though.”

“But when would you wanna know?” Nate says, like it’s some sort of checkmate.

Mikey just shrugs, then leans down to tie his skates. “I guess when I’m older? I dunno, I have other shit to worry about.”

“Good call,” Nate says. “Keep your options open, then see if fate intervenes.”

“Sure,” Mikey says, because he really just hasn’t thought about it. Most people their age don’t have soulmates, and tons of people who get names young don’t bother to check, and besides, Mikey’s got good friends, and he plays the best sport in the world, and he doesn’t think a soulmate would really add anything to the picture.

“But we should put money on the Leafs getting the first pick,” Nate says. “I should call my bookie.”

“Since when do you have a bookie?” Mikey asks, and he doesn’t even need to look up to see that Nate’s grinning at his own joke.

“It’s how I afford our lavish lifestyles, I pay for it with my gambling habit,” Nate says.

Mikey finishes tying his skates at that moment to look up at Nate and smirk. “Right, you’re the one who pays for everything.”

“I paid for your movie tickets last weekend, _and_ for popcorn, plus your Twizzlers,” Nate says, mock-offended. “I don’t even like Twizzlers, that was pure charity, man.”

“Because I paid for dinner the night before,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes.

“But the movies were your idea,” Nate protests.

“Don’t even get me started–”

“Oh my god,” Alex says, walking up to their stalls. “Just get married and combine your bank accounts, you have this argument way too much.”

“Nate doesn’t believe in love and marriage,” Mikey says.

“That’s not true!” Nate says. “Just not soulmates.”

“Probably for the best. You’d be a terrible soulmate,” Alex chirps, and Nate looks like he can’t decide whether to be offended or pleased.

“You probably would be,” Mikey says, and Nate apparently chooses to be offended, and whacks Mikey on the back of the head.

“Why’re you guys talking about soulmates, anyway?” Alex asks.

Nate smiles widely, so Mikey decides to let him drop the news about Marns; it’s good gossip, and Nate loves that kind of thing. Besides, he’s a better storyteller.

That night, Mikey goes home and orders his first wristguard, because he doesn’t want to be caught without it when his name comes in– well, technically, _if_ his name comes in, but he’s always sort of pinned himself as the kind of guy who will get a soulmate– and he doesn’t think it’s gonna happen soon, but he wants to be prepared.

The only real reason is because it happens to be on his mind because of Dylan’s whole Marner situation. It’s not really a thing.

* * *

If Mikey gets a soulmate soon, though, he’ll have to explain the whole Nate situation.

Not– not that there’s a real Nate _situation,_ per se, but it’s just– Mikey has Nate, and it’s kind of a thing. Nate comes over every day after practice, and runs Mikey’s Twitter when Mikey can’t be bothered to, and they have the whole “Superbuddies” thing, even if that’s mostly the Steelheads social media people and not them. Mikey’s older brother gets jealous of them, and Nate refers to both of his parents on a first name basis, and his dad knows how Nate likes his steak done.

But Nate isn’t, like, Mikey’s brother, because Mikey doesn’t really cuddle his brothers, and he doesn’t really tell his brothers personal shit, and he does both of those things with Nate. Plus, Mikey doesn’t really think of Nate as just his brother, or as just his friend, just–

Maybe the right word for whatever Nate is doesn’t exist yet. Whatever. They’re, like, ultra best friends, and if Mikey gets a soulmate, they’ll have to be on board with Nate being… around, or, like, part of it.

Not that–

Whatever. The point is, Nate is kind of the most important person in Mikey’s life, and Mikey’s pretty sure that not even his soulmate could change that.

* * *

Nate and Mikey are together the night of the draft lottery, and when the Leafs get the first pick, they both send Dylan simultaneous texts demanding that he pay up, even though no actual bets had been placed.  

Mikey doesn’t really know where or when he’ll be going– probably first round, probably not top ten, but it’s not so out of the realm of possibility. He thinks he should be paying attention, more, because this is his draft lottery, but honestly, he really doesn’t know what he’s supposed to get out of it.

He doesn’t really want to think about it, honestly, which is kind of dumb– literally everything he’s done this year has been a precursor to the NHL, because that’s the dream. Or, well, not the dream, anymore, but the goal, the kind of inevitable next step to all this, and that’s–

It’s super fucking weird, to be honest.

Realistically, Mikey knows he can’t expect to even be up next year, but he knows it’s different when he has a team– a _real_ team, like, a professional one– and he doesn’t really like the idea of things being over.

Thinking about the future sucks, so Mikey elects not to, and instead lies down on the couch and puts his head in Nate’s lap.

“You’re so needy,” Nate says, but he starts to run his fingers through Mikey’s hair.

“Fuck you,” Mikey says. “This is weird.”

Nate’s hand stops moving, and it takes Mikey a second to realize he’s been misunderstood.

“The draft stuff, y’know?” Mikey says, and thankfully, Nate starts playing with his hair again.

“Yeah, I guess,” Nate says.

“If you could pick, where would you go?” Mikey asks.

Nate looks thoughtful for a second, and says, “LA has warm weather.”

“Do you want warm weather?” Mikey asks. He knows Nate’s bullshitting, because every time he’s asked this question, Nate’s come back with a different answer. So far, he’s said Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Toronto, Detroit, and Washington.

“Would be nice,” Nate says. “Go to the beach, meet celebrities, all that shit.”

“Ah yes, the noted LA pastime of meeting random celebrities,” Mikey says. “Do you even know which celebrities? Or–”

“Nope, any celebrities,” Nate says, but it doesn’t sound right. “Hey, if I tell you something, promise you won’t push it, or bring it up ever again?”

Mikey’s stomach starts to do something funny, but he just says, “As long as you didn’t kill someone, man.”

“You wouldn’t cover for me if I murdered someone? I’m disappointed, Michael,” Nate says, smiling a bit.

“Okay, yes, you’re right, I would,” Mikey says. “What’s up?”

Nate sighs. “What if I went undrafted?.”

Mikey blinks. “What? Of course–”

“Like, what if I just wasn’t drafted at all, by any team,” Nate says. “It’s probably not gonna happen, but– and also, like, someone has to be last overall, y’know? That could be me.”

“That’s not what the rankings–”

“It’s a small chance,” Nate says again, and Mikey honestly thinks it’s smaller than small, and that Nate’s being _ridiculous_. “But, like, I dunno. I’m on a line with you and Alex, and you’re both going first round, and someone’s gotta be saying, somewhere, that I’m not as good without you guys.

“They’re wrong,” Mikey says, before he can stop himself.

Nate snorts. “Dramatic, much?”

“You’re the one being dramatic,” Mikey shoots back, but it’s a weak chirp and they both know it. “If I’m going first round, then you’re going second, at the lowest.”

“What, to the same team?” Nate says, and it’s kind of sarcastic, but Mikey has a vision of them, sharing NHL ice together, lineys again, Mikey getting the assist on Nate’s first goal, Nate getting the assist on Mikey’s, still best friends and roommates and superbuddies and–

The NHL suddenly seems a lot less scary.

Mikey tries to tamp that idea down, because the chances of that happening, while higher than the chances of Nate going undrafted, are still pretty fucking low.

“I bet if we were soulmates, they’d draft us together,” Mikey says, and– whoa, where did _that_ come from.

Nate goes stiff, and Mikey sits up, and he feels his face go hot with embarrassment. When he glances over, Nate is giving him a look that Mikey hasn’t seen on him before. Mikey thinks he’s about to blow up at him, or maybe cry, but he just exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for a long time.

“We’re not soulmates,” Nate says, and Mikey feels his stomach sink, which is– weird, and not something Mikey wants to address right now.

“I never said we were, it was just a– a hypothetical, or whatever,” Mikey says, and it probably comes out angrier than it should. Fuck, he really doesn’t want to fight with Nate right now, but he’s all dizzy, for some reason, and Nate is still giving him that weird look.

“Right,” Nate says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s whatever,” Mikey says. “Forget I said it.”

“No, really, sorry, it’s just– we don’t have soulmates, and we don’t– we don’t need them,” Nate says.

“No one _needs_ a soulmate,” Mikey says, kind of nonsensically.

“I mean, we don’t need to– never mind,” Nate says. “Sorry, I just– I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mikey says, because telling Nate he loves him is second nature at this point.

(That’s another thing he never does with his brothers– their love is implicit, always present, always understood. Nate likes to remind Mikey, a lot, with words. Mikey tries to do the same. It’s not his natural wavelength, not the same way it’s Nate’s, but it works between the two of them.)

“It’d be fun to be on the same team,” Nate says, but he says it quietly, like it’s a confession.

“We’re good together,” Mikey says. As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he has this weird urge to correct it, or to clarify that he’s talking about hockey, and not just them, but he thinks that being them is probably a big fucking part of their hockey, and–

“We are,” Nate says, and Mikey just _knows_ that Nate gets it.

Mikey settles against Nate’s side, and tilts his head onto his shoulder. They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Mikey doesn’t even want to pull his phone out, doesn’t even want to move, really.

And it’s good, and it’s _right._ Here, on Nate’s shoulder, is where Mikey’s head fits, and, yeah, Mikey doesn’t need a soulmate, because he has Nate.

He doesn’t know if that’s what Nate meant earlier, but he doesn’t really want to ask, so he just listens to the sound of Nate’s breathing.

* * *

Buffalo is, by all accounts, a truly terrible city.

Or maybe Mikey’s just in a bad mood, but Buffalo is definitely a part of it. It was shitty during the combine, and it’s shitty now, and Mikey’s stuck here all fucking weekend, and _god,_ why does it seem like Nate is friends with every fucking hockey player in the entire fucking CHL?

Especially Pierre-Luc Dubois.

PL isn’t a bad kid. On every rational level, Mikey knows that he’s nice, and that he’s _good,_ but the problem is, he’s always with Nate, and Nate hasn’t spent any fucking time with Mikey.

And maybe Mikey’s being selfish, but it’s the goddamn draft, and things are moving really fucking fast, and he kind of wants his best friend here right now.

But Nate’s, like, at the mall, or on a buffalo statue, or whatever the fuck he’s been doing this week, so Mikey’s kind of in this alone.

He’s pacing back and forth across his hotel room, and fuck, he’s getting drafted _tomorrow,_ when Nate texts him, and Mikey actually sighs, like, out loud.

 _can u make it to my hotel?_ the text reads.

Mikey smiles. _i can try, whats up?_

 _was told 2 text u, guys r bringing booze, come thru,_ Nate says.

Which means a party, and alcohol, and Nate.

Mikey leaves his hotel in a much better mood, and not even fucking Pierre-Luc Dubois answering the door when Mikey gets to the room can put a damper on that.

“Hey, Bastian’s been whining for you,” PL says, and before Mikey has a chance to, like, process that, Nate pops up over his shoulder.

“Mikey!” Nate says, and pulls Mikey in for a hug. “Let’s do shots.”

“Jesus, I just got here,” Mikey says, laughing. He pats Nate on the back before pulling away. “It’s a little early for shots.”

“It’s the draft, it’s never too early for shots,” Nate says, like he’s sharing his great wisdom with Mikey, or whatever.

Mikey does do a shot with Nate, and then a shot with Nate and Alex, and then there are a few more shots, but Mikey honestly stops keeping of track of who he’s drinking with and why pretty fast.

The point is: Mikey is drunk.

And also, Pierre-Luc Dubois is here, but Mikey’s had enough alcohol that he’s stopped being mad at him for stealing his best friend for the last week.

“Seriously,” Mikey is saying, and he thinks he’s slurring his words. “Seriously, you seem nice, sorry if it seemed like I was being a dick, I swear–” he pauses to burp, “– I swear I’m not a dick, it’s just Nate, y’know?”

PL blinks at him. “I… didn’t notice anything?”

“Oh, alright, because I was mad at you,” Mikey continues, because he feels really bad about being mad at PL, because PL made Nate happy.

“Are you guys– I swear, we didn’t, like, do stuff,” PL says, raising up both his hands. “Promise.”

“No, I didn’t– that’s not– no, no,” Mikey says, and he frowns. “I’m not, like, jealous, but– like, it’s Nate.” That probably doesn’t make much sense to PL, or it shouldn’t, anyway, but PL just nods.

“You guys have your– he said it was, like, ‘best best friends’ thing? S’alright,” PL says.

“Wait, he talked about me?” Mikey says, because this is news to him. “What did he say?” He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t be asking that, but he can blame it on the alcohol tomorrow.

PL shrugs. “Just, like, that he’s gonna miss you, or whatever. The usual crap.”

Mikey doesn’t know what qualifies as “the usual crap” when it comes to talking about your best friends before you both get drafted, potentially to two totally separate teams in totally separate countries, but he doesn’t think it would be a very chill move to ask PL for, like, a detailed breakdown of everything Nate said about him, and how he said it, and when, and what he thought it meant.

He doesn’t have time to say anything at all, actually, because Nate comes up behind him and does that thing where he wraps his arms around Mikey’s waist, which is something that happens a lot when they’re drunk. “Shrimp,” he says, nestling his nose in Mikey’s hair.

Mikey leans back, smiling. “I’m 6’2”, asshole,” he says. Nate is warm, and steady, and Mikey’s so fucking drunk, and they sort of stumble backwards together, which makes them both laugh.

“Shorter than me,” Nate says. “If you’re shorter than me, you’re a shrimp.”

“By that standard, everyone’s a fucking shrimp,” Mikey says, turning to look up at Nate, and, wow, Nate’s mouth is… right there.

Mikey stares at it, but Nate doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps talking. “Yeah, I live in a world surrounded by shrimp. The world isn’t my oyster, it’s my shrimp cocktail,” Nate says. He’s trying to be clever, the way they usually are, but he’s coming up short, and Mikey loves Nate like this.

“Shrimp cocktail,” Mikey repeats, and Nate can probably feel Mikey’s breath against his mouth.

“You’re so wasted,” Nate says, but it’s low and quiet and just for Mikey, this time,

“So are you,” Mikey says, and he realizes as he says it that this is weird. They’re standing weirdly close, and talking into each other’s mouths, and neither of them is moving away. It’s not exactly new for them, but Mikey thinks he might be about to realize something, except his brain is short-circuiting with alcohol and fear and excitement and Nate, Nate above all, Nate over everything and everyone else.

“Mikey,” Nate says, and it’s so soft, still.

And of course, like everything this weekend, Pierre-Luc Dubois fucks it up.

“Guys?” PL says, and then Nate’s far again, too far, and Mikey could cry.

He doesn’t, though, just makes sure he’s standing upright and tries to give PL a look of mild annoyance.

“Yeah, hey, Duber,” Nate says, and apparently it’s Duber now.

“How’re you holding up, bud?” PL asks. He looks like he wants to pat Nate on the arm, but he doesn’t, which is probably for the best, because Mikey might punch anyone who touches Nate right now.

“Yeah, just– I can let loose, tonight,” Nate says. “I’m not getting drafted tomorrow.”

Mikey wants to protest that he could, but that would probably be rude, and the interruption from PL has him thinking a little more clearly.

“Suit yourself,” PL says, then wanders away.

Mikey and Nate stare awkwardly at each other for a second, before Nate says, “Sorry.”

“What, for him?” Mikey asks, nodding in PL’s direction.

Nate nods. “And for this week.”

“It’s cool, don’t worry about it,” Mikey says. “Thanks, uh, for apologizing.”

“I mean– it would’ve felt weird, to like, do this with you.”

Mikey’s face must betray some of the sadness he feels at that, because Nate adds, “I mean, it would’ve either been us being sad, or us celebrating not being teammates anymore, and that would be weird.”

“Oh,” Mikey says. “You–”

“I know it’s not goodbye, but it… kind of is?” Nate says. “I missed you, though.”

“I missed you too,” Mikey says, and if his voice is a little too soft when he says it, whatever.

* * *

Mikey stumbles back to his room around 2AM.

He takes off the Steelheads sweatshirt he’d worn to the party, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a blob of something black on his left wrist.

Except it’s not a blob, it’s something clearer, and for a second, Mikey thinks someone might have drawn something on him, but then–

Mikey throws the sweatshirt to the ground, then puts his hand over his wrist like he’s just broken it.

“No, no, no–” he says, and he tries to think of what he saw, but thankfully, there are no clear letters in his hands, just a word. It’s only one word, and it’s not particularly long, but there are plenty of people with shortish names, so that doesn’t narrow down the pool, not really.

He grabs the wristguard, which is still in its packaging. Thankfully, it’s a box and not one of those plastic casings, because Mikey is fucking awful with those, and drunk Mikey is worse. He takes it out, reads the instructions, like, four times, and prepares to fasten it, but something stops him. Mikey just wants to be absolutely sure before he puts the wristguard on.

Slow and shaky, Mikey covers his wrist thoroughly with his hand, and slides it over carefully until he can make out one intentional, vertical line, clearly part of a letter.

It’s what he needs to know, but he still wants– wants _something,_ and he doesn’t know what, but the first letter of a name doesn’t mean that much, so Mikey keeps going, sees a line slant diagonally downward from the top of that first line until it shoots up in one clear, vertical stroke.

He stares at it, for a second, because he can’t tell if this is real or he’s dreaming or hoping, but after a few seconds, he is 100%, absolutely sure that what he’s seeing is a capital letter N.

And before he can stop himself, before he can hold the thought at bay and pretend that it’s not accompanied by _want_ and _hurt_ and _love_ and _miss_ and _need,_ he thinks: Nate.

Mikey doesn’t let himself read the next letter, because that would be a really fucking bad idea. Instead, he puts on the wristguard, following the instructions carefully, and he hopes he’s not so drunk that he fucks it up. It seems fine, though, even if it does feel a little strange to have one on, and once he’s sure it’s not going to move, he goes into the bathroom and throws up.

He brushes his teeth three times, then falls into bed, only barely remembering to set alarms for the next morning.

* * *

He’s so hungover the next morning he doesn’t even think about the guard, or the name, or the letter; he just stumbles through his shower and puts on his suit and focuses all his energy on trying not to throw up, again.

 _get PSYCHED!!!!!!!!_ Nate texts him, and Mikey smiles when he reads it.

 _im dead lol but thx,_ Mikey texts back.

 _cant wait 2 watch u fail to get a jersey over ur head onstage,_ Nate says.

 _ur a gr8 friend,_ Mikey replies, and then it’s a blur of breakfast, and meeting with his family, and talking to the press despite a truly brutal hangover, and settling in to wait to hear his name called. Matthews goes first, Laine second, and Dubois third, which has Mikey gritting his teeth. Alex goes seventh, and Mikey cheers hardest for that one, and then–

The New Jersey Devils call his name twelfth. He gets the jersey on alright, and he can’t stop fucking smiling. He shakes more hands in one day than he ever has in his entire life, and says the usual stuff about how he’s speechless and excited to go to a great organization.

So it’s a big day, and Mikey doesn’t think anyone would blame him for not remembering about the soulmate thing until he’s alone with management, and he thinks, _Nate._

Which brings back a whole slew of memories, including that weird moment last night, but he tries to push them aside, because New Jersey seems to be really excited to have him, and he figures it can’t hurt to ask, so–

“Are you going to draft Nate? Uh, Bastian. Nathan Bastian,” Mikey says, and he feels silly saying it.

Two of the men exchange a look. “We’ll see,” one says, and Mikey should just nod, except–

“We play really well together, and just–”

“If someone else doesn’t get him first,” the man says.

“Really?” Mikey says, and he thinks he might be, like, giddy. “He’s a great player, and, like, probably the best linemate I’ve ever had.” He mentally apologizes to Alex.  

“We have scouts,” the man says, but he gives Mikey a small smile. “We know you two have some great chemistry, don’t worry. It’s a consideration of ours.”

Mikey’s already smiling as widely as humanly possible, probably, but he thinks he might, like, actually cry. He’s been drafted to a team that really wants him, and it feels like he’s on top of the world, and he might get to play with _Nate,_ not just for the rest of juniors, but for the rest of their careers, the rest of their _lives–_

And it’s then that Mikey remembers the name on his wrist.

Instead of thinking about it for more than a few seconds, Mikey takes out his phone and texts Nate, _i put in a good word 4 u._

 _???_ Nate replies, fast enough that he must be looking at his phone.

Mikey responds with a devil emoji, and leaves it at that.

* * *

“Congrats, man,” Dylan says over the phone. “Have fun in fuckin’ New Jersey.”

“Dude, you did _not_ prepare me for that,” Mikey says. “It was insane. I don’t think I’ve ever signed that much shit in my life.”

Dylan laughs. “Yep. How’s your wrist holding up?”

Mikey freezes. “My wrist?” he says, looking at the guard. It’s unassuming and thin, and the corners aren’t starting to come up yet, but Mikey kind of wants to pick at them.

“From the signing?” Dylan says.

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” Mikey says, hoping Dylan doesn’t hear the relief in his voice.

No such luck, apparently. “Is there any other… wrist-related news in your life?” Dylan asks.

Mikey is silent for a second. “Uh, sort of?”

“You mean–”

“It was last night, alright?” Mikey says, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I was really fucking drunk.”

“Of course you were. Dude, this is wild.”

“No one knows, so don’t tell your brothers, or your mom, because then–”

“McLeod-Strome gossip pool, I know,” Dylan says. “But, just– give me deets. What’s the name?”

“Aren’t you not supposed to ask that?” Mikey says.

“Fuck that, man,” Dylan says. “C’mon, this is cool and exciting!”

“Didn’t you hate soulmates a few months ago?” Mikey says.

“Because I got dumped because of one. I’m over it,” Dylan says. “So, name?”

Mikey sighs. “I didn’t read it.”

“You– did you actually not?” Dylan says. “How? Like, physically, how did you avoid it?”

“I just– I saw the name and just, like, hid it,” Mikey says. “Then I put the guard on.”

“But you had to have, like, seen part of it,” Dylan says.

“I know it’s, like, not super long?” Mikey says.

“That’s it?” Dylan says.

“And–” Mikey bites his lip. “I, uh, saw the first letter.”

There’s silence on the other end for a second, before Dylan says, “And?”

“And what?”

“What’s the first letter?”

“What does it matter to you?” Mikey says. “It’s just a letter.”

“Okay, but then I can know whose name it isn’t,” Dylan says.

“It’s not you, that help?” Mikey says. “Who else do you wanna rule out?”

“Listen, man, if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” Dylan says.

“Guess,” Mikey says.

There’s a beat on the other end, and then: “Is it an N?”

Mikey sighs. “Maybe.”

“Oh, man,” Dylan says, and Mikey hates the way he says it, like he’s reacting to some big news. “D’you think–”

“I didn’t see the second letter, whatever,” Mikey says. “Again, I pretty much know nothing.”

“Alright, but it could be–”

“Stop,” Mikey says. “Don’t say it.”

“Are you serious?” Dylan says.

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know?” Mikey says. “Am I being ridiculous?”

“Probably,” Dylan says. “But whatever, you’re allowed to be.”

“I asked them to draft him,” Mikey says.

Dylan laughs at that, kind of incredulous. “Seriously? You just… asked?”

“I mean, I figured it wouldn’t hurt?” Mikey says. “I dunno. We play well together.”

“Yeah, you do,” Dylan says. “But that’s pretty extreme, even for you.”

“Don’t act like you and McDavid wouldn’t have done the same thing, if you weren’t both going top 10,” Mikey says.

“Hey,” Dylan says, a little more serious. “Stop, that’s– that’s not true.”

“It is, but whatever,” Mikey says. He doesn’t have a huge grasp on the whole Dylan-and-Connor situation, but there’s a lot of love there, and a lot of feelings in general, on both their ends.

“Well, I’m not a McLeod, so I just go where I’m drafted. I wouldn’t want to live in Edmonton, anyway,” Dylan says. “You might be dragging your buddy to New Jersey.”

“New Jersey isn’t terrible,” Mikey says. “What do you even know about New Jersey?”

“That it sucks,” Dylan says plainly. “You should tell him, dude. About the mark.”

“After tomorrow,” Mikey says.

“Suit yourself,” Dylan says.

“Can we talk about something else?” Mikey says, because he can’t really handle thinking about Nate and soulmates for more than five minutes.

“Sure,” Dylan says, and launches into some story about Raddysh.

Mikey listens, responds politely and appropriately, and does his best to push all thoughts of soulmates out of his head.

* * *

To Mikey’s credit, he doesn’t get his hopes up for Jersey drafting Nate until they’re on the clock, and the cheer he gives off is inappropriately loud. Honestly, it feels wrong that Nate isn’t, like, up onstage. Mikey thinks he’s deserving of a little more fanfare than being handed a jersey in the audience, but that’s probably more of what a draft should be like, anyway. The second day has the feel of what Mikey imagines Wall Street used to look like, just a bunch of guys in a room making rapid-fire decisions about who goes where to benefit them the most.

It’s kind of fucked up that his future– that their future– that every hockey player’s future, really, is decided like this, a bunch of guys moving them around like they’re chess pieces, but Mikey doesn’t really care, because New Jersey chose Nate.

“I have to say, this makes me feel better,” Mikey’s mom says. “Knowing you’ll be together.”

Mikey, for what it’s worth, cannot stop smiling, probably couldn’t if his life depended on it. “Yeah, it’s– it’s pretty awesome,” he says, and he hopes he doesn’t look too dopey.

He doesn’t actually get to see Nate for a few hours, and when he does, there are cameras, so Mikey can’t hug Nate like he wants to. It’s surreal, though, seeing Nate in a Devils hat and jersey. It’s even more surreal _being_ in that hat and jersey, even though there are about a zillion pictures of him in it, and a few videos, too.

But he’s being filmed, so he makes some effort to contain himself, even when Nate puts an arm around Mikey and practically beams as he talks about how excited he is to play with him.

“I can’t get away from him,” Mikey says, and he turns to look at Nate and just… he can’t stop laughing, and neither can Nate. This might honestly be the best day of his life, Mikey thinks as they prepare to reshoot because they won’t stop giggling.

Eventually, the cameras leave, and Nate and Mikey drift away from the crowd of family and friends they’d been waiting with.

“Dude,” Nate says. “We just got drafted.”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, “Yeah, we did.”

“We’re going to play _together,”_ Nate says. “Fuck.” He’s smiling when he says it, but there’s something else in his voice.

“I know,” Mikey says, because– because it’s a lot, yeah, but the thing is, this means a future full of hockey and Nate, and while Mikey might not be sure of a lot of things– most things, really– he’s pretty fucking sure about hockey and Nate.

He pulls Nate in for a hug, throwing his arms over his shoulders properly, and at first he squeezes hard, but then he just sort of hangs there. Nate’s hands rest low on Mikey’s back, and Mikey doesn’t think he’s going to let go anytime soon.

“You really just can’t get rid of me,” Nate says, his voice low in Mikey’s ear, and Mikey has to stop himself from shivering at the feeling of Nate’s breath.

“Don’t want to,” Mikey says, mostly into Nate’s shoulder. “We work too well together.”

“Yeah, we do,” Nate says, and Mikey pulls back a little bit, just so Nate can see him smile.

Nate’s face does something weird, but before Mikey can figure out what it is, Nate smiles again, then pats Mikey on the back one more time before he pulls away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -in case anyone was worried, i have a ton of bonus content waiting to be posted with the last chapter, so.


	2. Chapter 2

**(Nate)**

Nathan Bastian really fucking loves Mikey McLeod.

It’s, like, never even been a question. There are certain things that are true: the sky is blue, the grass is green, hockey is the best sport on the planet, and Nate loves Mikey. And Mikey loves him, too, which is pretty awesome. Like, Nate has plenty of friends, because people like him, but he only has one Mikey, and that makes sense, because Mikey’s kind of really fucking special. To Nate. And to other people, probably, but Nate is on, like, mom-tier levels of “this kid is the most special human being on the planet” when it comes to Mikey, and he doesn’t have to divide that attitude among the three McLeod boys.

So, yeah, Nate loves Mikey, because it’s literally the most sensible thing in the world to love Mikey. It’s easy to love Mikey.

Well.

It _was_ easy to love Mikey, about ten seconds ago, before Mikey had just casually mentioned that he has a fucking soulmate now.

He’d literally just dropped it in the middle of a sentence, like, “Okay, let’s make sure we’re on the same flight to Newark, also, my soulmark came in, so don’t be weirded out when you see it, but anyway, I know you’re not a morning person, but I think it’d be better to get a late afternoon flight at the earliest, yeah?”

Nate is a half a second too late when he says, “You have a soulmate?” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as weird as he feels, or if it does, he hopes Mikey can’t hear it over the phone.

Apparently, he has no such luck. “Yeah,” Mikey says. “Is– it happened before the draft? I didn’t want to, like, distract you with my shit.”

“Wait, it’s been there for over a week?” Nate says, and he’s feeling a lot of… something. Definitely angry, definitely hurt, and definitely a lot of other shit that he can’t figure out.

“I sort of forgot about it?” Mikey says, which is fucking bullshit, because Nate’s pretty sure you don’t just forget to tell your _best friend_ that you have a _soulmate._

“Okay, alright,” Nate says, and he sounds so angry, even though he’s not, like, mad at Mikey. He thinks. Or, he kind of is, but he doesn’t exactly feel justified in going off on him.

“I’m sorry,” Mikey says, all defensive, and Nate wants to punch something.

“No, it’s fine,” Nate says. “You just–”

“I tried to find the right time to tell you, and I sort of missed the mark, alright? Seriously, I didn’t even read the name, just put the guard right over it. I literally haven’t been thinking about it.”

And it’s just– the fact that there’s someone, and that someone has a _name,_ and that name is on Mikey’s skin– that’s a lot for Nate to handle. He doesn’t know if he wants to keep talking about it incessantly, or stop talking and never bring the topic up again.

“How do you just not think about it?” Nate asks, and this time he focuses a lot of energy into sounding calm. It works, he thinks, or at least, it works enough that Mikey sounds less defensive and frantic the next time he speaks.

“I dunno,” Mikey says. “It was… the draft, and then, like, preparing for camp, and it’s not like I want to meet the person anyway, y’know?”

“You don’t?” Nate asks.

“Yeah?” Mikey says, like it should be obvious. “Dude, in what universe am I ready for a soulmate?”

 _In this one, apparently,_ Nate thinks, but he doesn’t say that. “What if your soulmate is the sport of hockey?” he asks. “I feel like you’d be ready to commit to hockey for the rest of your life.”

“I feel like we’ve already done that,” Mikey says.

“Yeah, true,” Nate says. “But seriously, you didn’t look at the name once?”

“I saw a blob and covered it up. Didn’t get any details,” Mikey says. “Honestly, I was kinda pissed. I don’t have time for that shit.”

“True,” Nate says. “Sucks to be you.”

“Eh, I dunno,” Mikey says. “I did get drafted, and you’re there too, so.”

And that makes Nate’s heart flutter. Which is normal, when he’s around Mikey, except he’s starting to wonder if your heart fluttering at someone else’s soulmate is cheating, somehow.

Not that he’s planning on– like, doing whatever with Mikey. Just. It would be weird for Mikey’s soulmate, if Mikey was saying shit that made Nate’s heart flutter.

“Yeah, we’re gonna fuckin’ tear up New Jersey, man,” Nate says.

“Okay, now that we’re done with soulmate talk, can we, like, actually book our flight? I wanna get seats next to each other,” Mikey says.

“So needy,” Nate says, probably too fondly, considering Mikey has a soulmate now.

“Get used to it, bud,” Mikey says. “Anyway, how’s noon departure sound?”

“That’s too early,” Nate says automatically, and they’re done talking about soulmates, at least for the immediate future.

Nate can’t tell whether or not he’s relieved.

* * *

So they don’t talk about Mikey’s soulmark anymore, and Nate– he hasn’t really stopped thinking about it, not since it first came up, but at least it was reduced to this constant buzz in his head.

But they’re on the plane, on their way to dev camp, and Mikey is asleep on Nate’s shoulder, and Nate can see the tip of the wristguard over the sleeve of Mikey’s sweatshirt. He stares at it, unsure of what to think, because on the one hand, the name underneath it was Mikey’s soulmate, Mikey’s person, Mikey’s other half–

And Nate absolutely hates this dumb, anonymous person, hates them so fucking much, with every fiber of his being.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, because Nate doesn’t want to give up Mikey, and if Mikey has a soulmate, Nate’s pretty much going to have to like them. But Nate and Mikey have their thing, and Nate doesn’t think that another person would really understand it. Which means that things will change at some point, and Nate…

Well, Nate’s had Mikey at his side for long enough that Mikey kind of feels like his, at this point.

Nate is in no position to be, like, all weird and possessive, because he’s just Mikey’s _friend._ And they’re close friends, too, the kind of friends who can do shit like fall asleep on each other and not have it be weird. Which isn’t exactly true right now, because Nate is feeling very, very weird, but that’s not because Mikey’s sleeping on him.

It’s because of the fucking wristguard, which Nate still hasn’t looked away from.

He does, though, because he should really try to take his fucking mind off this whole soulmate thing, so he lets his eyes flicker upward to look at Mikey’s face. When Mikey sleeps, his mouth always falls just slightly open, and Nate thinks it’s hilarious, and has many, many pictures. That’s what Mikey’s mouth is doing right now, anyway, and Nate can hear the small, familiar exhales coming out of it.

Also, Mikey’s lips are all– relaxed, and pink, and parted, and Nate… kind of wants to kiss them.

It actually takes Nate a second to process the thought, because it’s not like he’s never thought it before, but usually he catches himself thinking it and puts a very quick stop to it. This time it just floats into his head, this weird sort of what-if. Like, Nate could do it, could just lean down and press his lips to Mikey’s, and they’d be kissing. Nate’s pretty sure they’ve almost kissed so many times, at this point, times when they’ve both been too drunk and too close to bother to leave any space between them, but Nate is sober right now, and so is Mikey, and Nate is legitimately considering kissing him.

Nate _wants_ to kiss him. Like, badly.

But Mikey has a soulmate, and Nate has the worst fucking timing _ever_ when it comes to realizing he wants to kiss his best friend. This feels like– like heartbreak, and that’s something he can’t think about right now, not with Mikey next to him, calm and asleep.

* * *

Alright, so, Nate wants to bone Mikey. That’s not too hard to imagine; Mikey’s hot, objectively, and he’s Nate’s best friend. Looking back, of course Nate wants to bone Mikey. Everyone wants to bone Mikey, probably, and Nate loves Mikey more than most people.

But there’s also– it’s not like Nate’s _in_ love with Mikey, but Mikey is, for all intents and purposes, his, and that’s, like, separate from the wanting to bone.

And again, this is all conditional, and probably temporary. Nate’s probably just freaking out because Mikey has a soulmate, and that idea kind of makes him want to puke.

Whatever.

Dev camp separates them enough anyway, which Nate is secretly super grateful for, even if he misses Mikey more than he should, considering they see each other plenty. But Nate has Whiter and Speersy and Andy, so he can make do, at least.

“I feel like the universe is trying to split us up,” Mikey complains to Nate as they leave the facility on the second to last day, and Nate has to hold back an incredulous laugh, because, really, Mikey doesn’t know the half of it.

* * *

The rest of the summer is– whatever.

It’s long, and Nate spends most of it working out. He’s not exactly avoiding Mikey, but he keeps filling his time with things to do that make it hard to get to Mississauga, and it works until it doesn’t.

“Why don’t you come work out with me tomorrow, man?” Mikey says over FaceTime. “C’mon, it’s been, like, a week since we’ve chilled.”

A week isn’t that long for people who live an hour apart to go without chilling, but it’s a long time for Nate to go without seeing Mikey. “We’re chilling now,” Nate says, even though he knows that’s not what Mikey means.

“Fuck off, man,” Mikey says. “I mean in person. Is something up? Are you, like, mad at me?”

“No,” Nate says, because he’s not, except it feels like a lie.

“Then come to Sauga tomorrow, dude,” Mikey says. “Please?”

Nate doesn’t think of a good excuse in the next few seconds, so he just says, “Yeah, sure thing.”

He doesn’t have a really good reason to not want to spend time with Mikey. Mikey laughs at all his jokes and whenever they post a picture together, it gets a shitton of likes, and they can cuddle and shit and it doesn’t have to be weird. Nate likes Mikey’s entire family, brothers included, and even if Nate’s having weird feelings for Mikey, making things weird between them probably doesn’t help.

But apparently hanging out as normal doesn’t help, either, because Nate can’t sleep that night.

In fact, he has so much trouble getting to sleep that he doesn’t wake up to his alarm the next morning, because by the time he’s exhausted enough that it starts to outweigh the constant buzz of anxiety, the sun is already out. By the time he blinks his eyes open, the sun is coming through the window at a weird angle and Nate knows he fucked up.

“Shit, fucking–” he says, and reaches over to check his phone, expecting to see a ton of texts from Mikey.

Except– no push notifications, which is weird, because there are usually a few things, even when he wakes up in the actual morning, not at 12:30.

He groans, because if Mikey didn’t try to get in contact with him at all, he must be really fucking pissed. He clicks on Mikey’s contact, but before he gets the chance to type out a text, there’s a knock on the door.

“What is it?” Nate says, and feels bad for snapping at his mom, but he’s trying to make sure his best friend doesn’t hate him.

“Uh, are you awake?” a voice asks, and that’s… definitely not Nate’s mom, and sounds kind of like Mikey. Nate wonders if he’s hallucinating.

“Yeah, one second,” Nate says, and scrambles to find boxers and a t-shirt. “Alright, I’m decent now.”

The door opens slowly, but, yeah, that’s definitely Mikey. “Sorry,” he says.

“Dude, what’re you doing here?” Nate asks.

“I– you didn’t show up earlier, so I just– I, uh, wanted to check on you, and you weren’t answering your phone,” Mikey says, and he’s bright red, and Nate’s sleepy enough to acknowledge that he finds blushing Mikey really fucking cute.

“I’m so fucking sorry, I couldn’t sleep last night and I slept in,” Nate says. “I was, like, about to text you.”

“No, it’s good, I understand,” Mikey says. “I was just being weird, is all. I don’t know. You’ve been– uh, not around, and I thought something might have been up, is all.”

“Nothing’s up,” Nate lies.

“So, you’re not– you’re not, like, mad at me?” Mikey asks.

“I promise, I’m not. I’ve just been busy lately,” Nate says. “Seriously.” He gives Mikey a small smile and hopes it comes off as reassuring.

Mikey still looks nervous, though. “Are– are you dating someone?” he blurts out.

Nate blinks at Mikey for a second. “What?”

“Just– I don’t know, you’ve been too busy to hang out, and I’d totally understand if you didn’t want to talk about it–” Mikey lifts his arm to scratch at the back of his head, and jesus, his _arms._

“I’m not,” Nate says. “Seriously, I’m not– I’m not dating anyone. I would tell you.”

“It’s cool if you are. I mean, you can date whoever you want.”

“I know,” Nate snaps, a little harsher than he should be. “I don’t need your permission, buddy. The fact that I’m single has nothing to do with you.” Which, okay, it actually has a lot to do with Mikey, but Mikey doesn’t need to know that, and Nate thinks his overall point stands.

Mikey doesn’t get fired up, just looks kind of small and sad, and wow, Nate is the worst. “I’m sorry. This is dumb, I shouldn’t–” Mikey starts to turn towards the door. 

“No, dude,” Nate says, apologetic. “Sorry. I’m just grumpy, still need coffee and food, or whatever.”

Mikey shrugs, but doesn’t say anything, just sort of looks at his feet.

“Seriously. I apologize. And– I’m sorry for missing workout, that was uncool.”

“As long as you didn’t mean to,” Mikey says.

“And I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” Nate says. “It’s been a weird summer.”

“S’alright, you have shit to do, but– I miss you, I dunno,” Mikey says.

Nate’s heart kind of aches when he says, “Don’t worry, I miss you too, bro.”

“Yeah?” Mikey says, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

“Of course,” Nate says. “Did you already work out?”

Mikey shakes his head. “Was waiting for you,” he says.

“Let’s get some breakfast food, then we can hit the gym?” Nate suggests.

“Works for me,” Mikey says, smiling. “Your mom left a while ago, by the way. She made extra coffee.”

“Bless her,” Nate says. He kind of feels disappointed that he didn’t get to see Mikey talk to his mom– it’s always hilarious, because Mikey always sounds like a very polite twelve-year-old around parents, and is still nervous around Nate’s mom, somehow, even though she already knows and loves him.

“She’s a good woman,” Mikey says, nodding. “She said that if you didn’t wake up in the next two hours, I should pour it out, because it would just keep you up tonight.”

“I very sincerely hope you wouldn’t do that to me, man,” Nate says.

“I mean,” Mikey says, smiling, “she has a fair point.”

“You wouldn’t deprive me of coffee. That would be cruel. I’d have to disown you as my best friend,” Nate says.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mikey says. “Who else would drive all the way out here just to wake you up?”

“I still can’t believe you did that, man,” Nate says, and he walks across the room to grab a pair of pants or something from his dresser, clapping Mikey’s shoulder on the way there. “Seriously, you could’ve texted.”

Mikey turns red and shrugs. “I dunno, figured I might not catch you if I did. I’m, uh, sorry that I always ask you to drive out to Sauga, also.”

“What?” Nate asks, sliding on the shorts.

“I mean, I could drive out here,” Mikey says. “It’s a long drive.”

“Most people we know live in Sauga,” Nate says.

“Yeah, I know, just–”

“You’re out here plenty, man. It’s fine,” Nate says. “I don’t mind.” He really doesn’t. Nate likes driving, honestly, and the drive to Mississauga is pretty nice, mostly highways, and he’s done it so many times that he doesn’t need to think about it.

“Are you sure?” Mikey asks.

“Yes, idiot,” Nate says, then walks over to him and ruffles his hair.

“Quit it,” Mikey says, ducking away. “Why do you do that, anyway? It’s not like it actually changes my hair.”

“Yet you still duck,” Nate says.

“I changed my mind, I hate that they drafted us both,” Mikey says. “You’re a dick.”

“You love me anyway,” Nate says.

Mikey smiles at that, something warm and content on his face. “Yeah, I do,” he says, and Nate is caught off guard by how genuine Mikey sounds.

“Alright, coffee,” Nate says, after a pause that was probably a half-second too long. “I’m gonna need caffeine if you’re gonna be a fuckin’ sap.”

“Ouch,” Mikey says, faux-wounded but smiling as he follows Nate out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

* * *

Nate wonders if Mikey’s always been this hot, or if this is a new development.

Like, Mikey’s good looking. Mikey’s a handsome young man. That’s just a fact, based on like, the symmetry of his face, or whatever. He’s dreamy in a sort of teen heartthrob way, athletic and tan and just– he’s attractive, like, objectively, and Nate’s always known this.

Except he’s looking at his best friend of three years and noticing new ways to find him hot, and it’s really fucking inconvenient.

It’s just– Mikey’s bench pressing, and Nate’s spotting him, and Mikey’s muscles are all strained and his back is arched, and his face is doing something dumb that wouldn’t be hot if it weren’t for his eyes, all focused and determined and intense in a way that makes Nate want to shiver.

Mikey’s soulmate is the luckiest person in the whole fucking world.

The barbell collapses onto the rack, and Mikey lies back for a second, panting, and Nate doesn’t know how he usually survives this, because holy _fuck_ is Mikey hot. Nate’s brain is filled with thoughts that have no place in a gym, but he can’t help it, not when Mikey’s like _this._

“Alright,” Mikey says, all breathy, because life isn’t fair. “Your turn?”

“Sure,” Nate says, and he looks away as Mikey gets up, like it will somehow balance out the hardcore staring he was doing a few seconds ago if he doesn’t look at Mikey at all.

When it’s Nate’s turn, he’s acutely aware of Mikey’s eyes on him, and it makes him self-conscious, and somewhere between the fifth and sixth reps, being self-conscious makes him angry.

Like, alright, Mikey’s hot, and Nate’s into him, but it just feels so fucking unfair that this whole thing is one-sided, because no matter what Nate does, Mikey has a soulmate, so Mikey’s never gonna want him the same way. And that pisses Nate off.

“You look dumb,” Mikey says, smirking and beautiful, and it’s some kind of last straw.

“Yeah, well, we can’t all look as pretty as you,” Nate says, except he’s still bench pressing, so it ends up sounding less like a quip and more like a grunt.

Mikey’s eyes go a little wide, but it’s just for a second. “Yeah, well,” he sputters, clearly taken aback, except he doesn’t look hurt or offended.

Nate lets out a groaning noise on his last rep, then reracks the barbell and takes a second to gain feeling in his arms again. He looks up at Mikey, who’s bright red and staring at him, his mouth hanging open kind of dumbly, like–

Oh.

Mikey _liked_ that.

Nate doesn’t know if it’s the compliment or him, but Nate’s pretty good at reading Mikey, and pretty good at knowing when people want to sleep with him, and, yeah, Mikey’s… thinking about it, at least. It’s not like Nate’s getting his hopes up, because Mikey wanting to sleep with him right now doesn’t get rid of the whole soulmate thing, but it’s a nice ego boost, at least.

Plus, Nate figures he’s allowed to be selfish, so he sits up and flashes Mikey his most charming smile before he says, “You alright there?”

Mikey smiles, this weird and awesome combination of sheepish and pleased. “Yeah, fine, just catching my breath.”

“Still?” Nate says. “Weak stuff, McLeod.”

Mikey punches Nate in the shoulder lightly, and he still has that same smile on his face, and Nate figures that he only has so much more time with Mikey left, so he might as well make the most of it.

That’s what he tells himself as he throws his arm around Mikey.

It’s also what he tells himself when he guides them back to his car, his hand on the small of Mikey’s back.

It’s also what he tells himself when he pulls Mikey’s legs into his lap when they’re back in his bedroom.

It’s also what he tells himself when he showers that night, after Mikey’s left, and he can’t stop thinking of how good it felt to touch Mikey as he gets himself off.

It’s just– he’s only been guilty over this for a few weeks, and he’s already exhausted. Nate fucking hates soulmates, and hates Mikey’s soulmate more than anyone else. He doesn’t think Mikey’s thrilled about it, either. It’s a dumb system, and it feels like some sort of rebellion, letting himself want someone that fate or whatever won’t let him have. Really, it’s a big, poetic statement about taking control of his own future.

Partially.

Mostly, he just wants Mikey, in every way a person can want another person, and he’s trying to cope with that.

* * *

Nate makes time to spend with Mikey, after that, and their week apart feels more and more like a failed experiment.

He can’t bring himself to care, though, not when Mikey’s so fucking receptive to the increased levels of flirting and touching. Part of it is that Nate’s selfish, and wants to touch Mikey badly, but even if Nate were more neutral about it, Mikey smiles so fucking wide whenever Nate touches him that it seems like an objectively smart idea to keep doing it.

It starts off with the usual things, Nate’s hand on Mikey’s shoulder, some bro-cuddling on the couch, but just… more of that. The way touchy-feely friends touch each other. It’s normal, and maybe a little elevated.

And then one day, Mikey gets up to make popcorn, and Nate moves til he’s sitting in the middle of the couch, taking up as much space as possible. It’s meant to be a joke, really, except when Mikey comes back, he doesn’t roll his eyes or try and shove Nate, just… sits, right there, on his lap.

Nate’s had a lap full of Mikey plenty of times before, but that’s usually when there are other guys around, and they have some flimsy excuse of there not being enough places to sit. This, though, is just Mikey deciding that his favorite place on the couch to sit is Nate’s lap.

And then he does it the next time they hang out, too, and the third time it happens, Nate decides to see what would happen if he put a hand on Mikey’s hip, because it’s right there and he wants to. As it turns out, Mikey goes stiff for a second, and then he gets a little hot, and he’s kind of squirmy in Nate’s lap for the rest of the movie, moving around every couple of seconds, putting his hand over Nate’s when Nate squeezes a little bit.

Mikey leaves these lingering touches, too, leaves his hand on Nate’s forearm while Nate’s driving, rubs small circles with his thumb into Nate’s shoulder blade for no real reason. He presses his hand into the side of Nate’s thigh one afternoon while they’re watching TV, and over the course of the next two hours, slowly moves until it’s resting at the top of Nate’s inner thigh, his thumb reaching even lower. Nate wants to say that it’s so slow that he doesn’t even realize it’s happening, except there’s nothing Mikey does that Nate doesn’t notice. He feels like he’s on fire the entire time, and afterwards, Mikey leaves and Nate only needs a few strokes to finish himself off, because he’s been hard since he’d realized what Mikey was doing and is just so fucking keyed up from it all.

The next time Mikey sits on his lap, Nate works his hand from his hip toward the waistband of Mikey’s shorts, hooking his thumb underneath, and he thinks he legitimately hears Mikey whimper at it as he squirms in Nate’s lap.

It’s a challenge, seeing how close they can get before they cross the line from “best bros who touch each other” to “best bros who jerk each other off,” or whatever. Nate doesn’t know if he could do the whole friends-with-benefits-for-someone-biding-their-time-while-they-wait-for-their-soulmate thing, but if it means he gets Mikey, he might be legitimately willing to give it a shot. Nate’s not gonna back down, but he’s not gonna be the one to push things forward, so he’s just– he’s gonna keep going with this weird touching-thing they have going, because even if he doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t know how to stop, and doesn’t want to.

* * *

Ball hockey is one of Nate’s favorite McLeod family traditions, honestly.

The game itself is fun, mostly because it’s hockey and Mikey, and that’s a really winning combination, in Nate’s eyes. Summer Mikey, especially, is something special, all tanned and well-rested and full of so much fucking energy that Nate thinks he might actually be literal sunlight.

The game’s been over for a few hours, so it’s just Nate, drunk in the Strome family basement with Dylan and still thinking about the way Mikey looked playing ball hockey. Mikey’s at his place showering and dealing with family stuff, and is going to join them at some point soon, and Nate’s a bit grateful for the break, because sometimes being around Mikey is overwhelming, the same way a fireworks show or a full day at an amusement park is overwhelming.

So, it’s just Nate and Dylan Strome, and they don’t have a huge amount to talk about, so they’ve just been drinking to avoid conversation for the last hour.

“So,” Dylan says, and then immediately burps. “Uh, congrats on the win.”

“Sorry about the loss,” Nate says, then takes another sip.

“No hard feelings,” Dylan says. “I’m kind of a shitty goalie.”

“It’s against everything you’ve ever believed in,” Nate says. “Your instinct is to get pucks to the net, not keep them out.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says absently. “So, uh, what’s the deal with you and Mikey?”

“Hm?” Nate says, turning his head towards Dylan, who’s awkwardly strumming his fingers and fidgeting with the tab of his can of Natty Ice.

“Like, you two– I dunno, he said some stuff a few weeks ago,” Dylan says.

“We’re not– he has a soulmate,” Nate says, and there’s a weird buzzing noise in his ear.

“No shit,” Dylan says. “You guys are just– you know, all over each other.”

“That’s just how it is with us,” Nate says.

“Yeah, but it just seems– I dunno, it’s different now,” Dylan says. “Seems like there’s more.”

Who the fuck does this kid think he is, honestly? “Don’t know what to tell you, man,” says Nate.

“Just– Mikey’s my friend, too, and he really fucking loves you,” Dylan says, and it sounds like an accusation. It fucking stings, honestly, and Nate clenches his fists when he responds

“I love him too,” Nate says, and there must be something in his voice that sounds threatening, because Dylan puts both his hands up.

“He asked Jersey to draft you guys together. Did he tell you that?”

“I– sorta,” Nate says, and his head does something weird, because he knew his name had, like, come up, but Mikey going out of his way to request it is something else entirely.

“Just– be careful with him,” Dylan says.

“He’s my best friend,” Nate snaps. “I’m not trying to–”

“This isn’t about anything you’re trying for, man. Just, know what you’re doing, alright?”

“Will do,” Nate says, and he and Dylan go back to drinking in silence.

Thankfully, it’s only ten awkward minutes, because Mikey comes bounding down into the basement, winded by the time he reaches the bottom of the staircase.

“Made it,” he says, smiling.

Nate laughs, because Mikey’s face is all red and he’s trying to catch his breath, and he looks really cute. Nate doesn’t say that, though, just says, “Welcome back, man. Let’s get a beer in you.”

“Please,” Mikey says, and Dylan grabs him one from the fridge, giving Nate a look while Mikey’s back is turned.

Once Nate and Dylan help him catch up to them– which isn’t that hard, because he’s a fucking lightweight– Nate flops onto the couch, and Mikey sits right on top of him.

“Yay,” Nate says out loud, because he has no filter when he’s drunk and Mikey is around.

“Aw, you like it when I sit here,” Mikey says, throwing his arm over Nate’s shoulder and running a hand through Nate’s hair.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you guys are–”

“Very happy right now,” Mikey says, and Nate can’t see, but he’s pretty sure Mikey’s glaring.

“Fucking inseparable,” Dylan says. “I feel like a third wheel.”

Nate is going to protest, because this isn’t even that bad– just normal lap-sitting and hair-petting between friends– but Mikey beats him to it. 

“Hey, remember last summer when you and Marner–”

“Hey,” Dylan says. “That was different.”

“Yeah, it was worse,” Nate says. “We all heard you guys getting it on, and then you came out here for the afterglow.”

“There was no room to cuddle in the bathroom,” Dylan protests.

“Oh my god, you have a bedroom _in this house,_ ” Mikey says.

“Well, it wasn’t like that,” Dylan says, his face turning red. “We weren’t– it’s not like we were making sweet, tender love, or whatever.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not making any sort of love,” Nate says.

“Just guy love,” Mikey says. “Bro cuddles, man.”

Dylan scoffs. “I know bro cuddles. I used to bang Mitch Marner, king of bro cuddles. The shit you two do is not bro cuddling.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to McDavid,” Mikey says.

This is not information that Nate should be hearing, probably, based on the fact that Dylan looks really fucking furious.

“Okay, that is not fucking fair–”

“What, am I wrong?”

“We cut that shit _out_ when–”

“Uh,” Nate says, and he squeezes Mikey, who turns around and looks at him. “Should I, like, leave?”

“No, it’s fine,” Mikey says.

“Listen,” Dylan says, and now that Nate’s looking, Dylan’s, like, really fucking wasted. “Take it from someone older and wiser, alright? Watch yourselves.”

“We will,” Nate says, before Mikey can protest. He looks Dylan straight in the eye, too, because clearly– clearly something got fucked up, between Dylan and Connor McDavid, and while Nate doesn’t know the details, he can recognize when drunken angriness is coming from regret, and that’s definitely what’s happening right now.

Dylan, for his part, seems a little taken aback, but nods. “Alright,” he says.

There’s an awkward few seconds where no one knows what to say, until finally Nate suggests they watch _It’s Always Sunny,_ and Dylan says he’s never seen it, which means they pretty much have to watch it. Mikey can’t settle on a favorite episode, and it’s very endearing, and Nate finally chooses one for him.

Mikey’s still on his lap the entire time, and they don’t do the teasing thing exactly, but they’re gonna have to stop eventually anyway, and Nate’s not gonna be the one to do it, not when Mikey feels this good.

* * *

They go back to Mikey’s late, sneak into his room, and quietly strip down to their boxers as they slip under the covers.

“Dylan’s wrong, by the way,” Mikey whispers. “We’re not gonna end up like him ‘n Davo.”

“I don’t think so either,” Nate whispers back, and he puts his hand on Mikey’s face. Mikey’s eyes flutter open, and he gives Nate this soft, sweet smile.

Nate’s breath kind of catches at the sight of it, but Mikey just smiles, easy, and leans forward to press a kiss on Nate’s forehead. Nate kind of short circuits for a second, because Mikey’s lips are so warm, and Nate wants this, wants everything about this moment, and even though he’s right there, he gets this, it _hurts._

“I love you,” Mikey says.

“I love you too,” Nate says, and he knows his voice sounds more strained than it should, so he closes his eyes before Mikey can respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -next update monday!


	3. Chapter 3

**(Mikey)**

Mikey thinks he should be a little more upset about not making the roster.

Like, okay, he’s pissed off, for sure, but it had been kind of a longshot, and he’d known that. An extra year with the Steelheads isn’t bad, though; he’s the captain, he gets another shot at the Mem Cup, and he gets an extra year with Nate.

And like, Mikey has some vague sense that his soulmate’s probably part of his future in Jersey, and he really doesn’t want that yet. Being back in Mississauga, as much as he does want to be in the NHL, feels right, for now.

Still, it’s a weird start to the season, and kind of lonely, so Mikey and Nate end up snapping Alex a lot.

 _awww u guys ,_ Alex sends, after Mikey and Nate send him a frownie-faced selfie.

 _come back, snipeshow,_ Nate types out, except it’s Mikey’s phone.

“Tell him you sent that,” Mikey says, trying to grab his phone, except he’s sitting in Nate’s lap, so it’s hard.

“One sec,” Nate says, and then he starts fucking around on Mikey’s phone, which, rude.

“What are you doing?” Mikey asks, craning his neck to see.

Nate just smiles and shrugs, leaning away so Mikey can’t see what he’s doing.

“Hey, what are you–” Mikey twists around, except that kind of hurts his back.

“Nothing, nothing,” Nate says, laughing, because he’s an asshole who’s clearly doing something.

So really, it’s Nate’s fault that Mikey has to turn around to essentially straddle him, as Nate laughs and leans away.

“Hey,” Mikey says, still laughing, and then he grabs Nate’s wrist– the one holding the phone– and pins it to the back of the couch, then quickly gets the other one. “Gotcha,” he says.

“Fine, you win,” Nate says, and Mikey fist pumps triumphantly before grabbing the phone out of Nate’s hand.

“What the fuck,” Mikey says, looking at the screen as Nate’s hands come to his hips. “Were you just playing 2048?”

“Yep,” Nate says, rubbing his thumbs along the waistband of Mikey’s jeans. Mikey has to hold back a contented hum at the sensation, but he does feel his cheeks get a little warm.

“Why were you being so secretive?” Mikey says, and then goes over to his texts to see that Nate had, in fact, sent Alex a text reading, _this is n8 btw_

Nate shrugs, and his hands move a bit farther back on Mikey, which, honestly, Mikey should have anticipated. He doesn’t think Nate touching him like this will ever stop surprising him, though. Or maybe it will, when Mikey figures out what the fuck it means, but for right now, it just feels good.

“I beat your high score, by the way,” Nate says, so fucking smooth that Mikey would slap him if it weren’t, like, really working for him.

“Fuck you, I’m getting it back,” Mikey says, and then he wraps his arms around Nate’s neck. He fully intends to, like, open the app and play a new game, except the gesture brings his face much closer to Nate’s than he had expected, and Mikey can’t look away, or doesn’t want to.

“Huh,” Nate says, and for the first time since they upped the ante on the whole bro-flirting thing, Nate actually looks caught off-guard. His pupils go wide, and Mikey can’t stop fucking staring.

It’s just– it’s so much. Mikey can handle Nate’s hands being basically on his ass, he can handle the fact that they’re pretty much crotch to crotch, and he can handle their faces being inches away from each other, but it’s all happening at once, and it’s just so much, too much for either of them to keep their cool about.

Nate’s hands cup Mikey’s ass, and he pulls him closer, and their noses are touching, and Nate’s face looks– not like he’s daring Mikey to do something, but like he’s asking, or hoping.

Mikey presses their foreheads together, then closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale.

When he opens them, Nate’s still staring at him, and Mikey can see how long Nate’s eyelashes are. Nate’s eyes flicker down to Mikey’s lips before looking back up, and it’s a question.

Mikey moves down, so they’re level with each other, and Mikey lets his eyes linger on Nate’s lips for a second. They’re soft and open and right fucking there, and Mikey wants this, wants it so fucking bad.

He looks up again, and he leans in a bit as Nate’s hands slide up his back, drawing Mikey closer.

Mikey takes one more second to look at Nate, because he doesn’t want to fuck this up, and Nate looks so open and _sure,_ and Mikey realizes that this is going to happen, and he leans in. His mind is buzzing, and it feels like his entire body is on fire, and Nate’s eyes are all half-lidded and he looks so fucking _good,_ and–

Mikey’s fucking phone vibrates, and it’s so sudden that he and Nate both jerk back.

It’s disorienting, and Mikey feels so fucking awkward, all of a sudden. He doesn’t know where to look, so he settles on looking at the text.

“Who is it?” Nate asks, sounding kind of out of breath.

“It’s Alex,” Mikey says.

“Ha,” Nate says, forced, and Mikey wants to say something, wants to get back to where they were, except Nate’s staring at something. He follows his gaze and sees that it’s Mikey’s left wrist, and–

Oh.

“I’m, uh, gonna use the bathroom,” Nate says.

“Right,” Mikey says, and he awkwardly climbs out of Nate’s lap. “Uh, sorry.”

Nate stands up. “You’re good, dude,” he says.

Mikey nods, and Nate turns and leaves the room faster than Mikey’s ever seen him.

The first thing Mikey does is dig the heels of his hands into his face and try not to cry. The second thing he does is give up and cry anyway– only a little bit, and very quietly, but Mikey’s confused and angry and hurt and terrified, and he doesn’t know how Nate feels about any of it, so he thinks his tears are pretty fucking justified.

His eyes are dry by the time Nate comes back, though, after what might be too long in the bathroom, but Mikey doesn’t really know, because he’s pretty sure time stopped the second Nate walked out of the room.

“Hey,” Mikey says, a bit worn out.

Nate doesn’t respond, just sits down next to Mikey on the couch, and Mikey leans on him, a little. Nate puts his arm around Mikey, and of course, they’re on the same page with this. They don’t try and push for more, just give into the familiar comfort.

It’s probably strange, being comforted by the person who is actively causing Mikey to have at least ten simultaneous personal crises, but it’s Nate, so Mikey doesn’t find it as weird as he maybe should.

* * *

“Are you and Nater–” Ryan starts to ask, on the way to practice the next morning.

Mikey answers before Ryan can finish his sentence. “Nope, just friends.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Can I at least ask the question?”

“If you need to,” Mikey says.

“Are you and Nater soulmates?” Ryan asks, which catches Mikey off guard, and he’s thankful Ryan’s driving, because Mikey would have definitely, like, hit a curb, or something.

“Nate hates soulmates, and he doesn’t have one,” he replies after a second.

“And you don’t know if he’s yours,” Ryan says.

“I have the wristguard on, don’t I?” Mikey says.

“Alright,” Ryan says, and then, “Do you want him to be?”

“That’s not how soulmates work,” Mikey says. “Where is this coming from?”

“A couple of the guys were talking about it,” Ryan says casually, like that’s not a big fucking problem.

“What?” Mikey says.

Ryan shrugs. “Y’know, guys were gonna take bets, figured I’d get the inside scoop–”

“They’re taking _bets?_ On whether Nate and I are, what, hooking up?”

“No, on whether or not you’re soulmates. I’m pretty sure most of them just assumed you were hooking up.”

Mikey groans. “What the fuck, why did you not tell me about this?”

“I mean– it’s not like you guys are subtle about it,” Ryan says. “I thought it was just… you know. A thing.”

Mikey sort of gapes at Ryan for a second, who doesn’t notice, his eyes calmly on the road. “Ry,” Mikey says. “I’m not hooking up with Nate.”

Ryan snorts. “Sure you’re not,” he says. “C’mon, you’re always on top of him, and his arm is, like, always around you. It’s chill, bro.”

“We’re not,” Mikey says, and his head is spinning. He knows he and Nate are pretty close, but it’s one thing for a few new guys to ask questions, but another thing entirely for everyone, including his own _brother,_ to act like he and Nate are the most obvious fucking thing in the world, even if it’s not actually true.

“Okay, then, you’re gonna,” Ryan says, simply. “Like, it’s– it’s that kind of thing, right?”

“I have a _soulmate,”_ Mikey says, and he can’t really keep the disgust out of his voice, not with the way Nate looked at the guard last night.

“That you don’t know,” Ryan says. “What’s the point of not knowing their name if you’re not gonna hook up with anyone?”

“Because it’s my fucking life,” Mikey says. “Oh my god. Can you, like, stop guys from talking about this?”

“Sure, but I don’t think they’ll believe me,” Ryan says.

Mikey groans. “Make them believe you,” he says.

Ryan just shrugs, and Mikey really misses being that nonchalant about things.

He doesn’t look at Nate during practice, and Nate doesn’t look at him, and Mikey thinks about that episode of _Scrubs_ where they say that once two friends almost-kiss, they have 24 hours to complete the kiss before the opportunity disappears forever. Or something like that. Mikey doesn’t remember the details, just that there’s, like, a timer at the bottom of the screen.

Mikey isn’t, like, counting down the seconds until that 24 hour window is up. He’s not that dramatic. But he won’t pretend there’s not a twinge of disappointment when he looks up at the clock later and realizes that it’s passed.

It feels better when Nate shows up, though, a shy, apologetic smile on his face.

They fall into a game of Mario Kart and things go back to normal, more or less. Or, well, they return to what should be normal. Sitting next to your best friend on the couch shouldn’t be weird, especially if the reason for the weirdness is because you got too used to sitting in his lap, so Mikey pretends he’s not hyperaware of the inches of distance between them, and how much it kills him to see Nate laugh when he can’t feel his whole body shake underneath him.

* * *

That’s how the next few weeks go– Nate doesn’t touch Mikey anymore, sits as far away from him as possible, even cuts their cellys short. They hang out and pretend it’s normal, except Nate has all these new unspoken rules that Mikey has to relearn, and it’s really fucking frustrating.

Mikey only cries a few times, and doesn’t text Stromer for advice at all, so he’s holding up fine, really.

* * *

“Hey, man,” Mikey says into the receiver. “What’s up?”

“Not much, just haven’t heard from you in a few weeks,” Alex says on the other end. “How’re you guys?”

“The team’s good. You know, it’s… weird,” Mikey says.

“Aw, miss me?” Alex says, lightly.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “I guess it makes sense. It’s just… things are different.”

“Well, at least you still have Nate,” Alex says.

Mikey’s silent for a second, and he’s about to cover it up with some pleasantries, but it must be a beat too long, because Alex says, “Unless… something happened?”

“I mean,” Mikey says, “it’s still– we’re not, like, fighting, or anything.”

“Okay,” Alex says, be he doesn’t sound convinced.

“It’s just weird,” Mikey repeats.

“You mean things in general, or things with Nater?”

Mikey sighs. “I mean, both?” he says. “It’s– don’t tell him I’m telling you this, okay?”

“Of course not,” Alex says.

“It’s just… you promise?” Mikey says, stalling.

“Oh my god, yes,” Alex says. “Come on.”

“Okay, well,” Mikey says, and then he gulps. “I think there was a… moment? A few weeks ago.”

“A moment,” Alex repeats. “What do you mean by a moment?”

“What do you think I mean, dude?”

“A moment can be a lot of things!” Alex protests. “You guys could have like, punched each other, or he could have walked in on you doing something weird, or–”

“Okay, but if I were to tell you that we had a _moment,_ what would your first instinct be?” Mikey asks.

“Like, probably a… you-and-Nate moment,” Alex says. “A– you know. Something, like… the kind of thing that makes things weird between best friends.”

“You’re killin’ me here, man,” Mikey says.

“You’re the one who won’t say it!” Alex sputters. “Come on, you can’t expect me to guess. What if I guess wrong?”

“I fucking doubt it,” Mikey says, frustrated. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Was it… was it, like, a more-than-bros thing?” Alex says.

Mikey nods, but then he realizes Alex is on the phone, so he just says, “Yeah, something like that.”

“I mean,” Alex says. “Did you two hook up?”

“No,” Mikey says quickly. “Apparently everyone thinks we are, which is, y’know, fucking great.”

“Who’s everyone?” Alex asks.

“Uh, like, the entire team? Ryan too,” Mikey says.

“ _Ryan_ thinks you are?” Alex says.

“I know!” Mikey says. “It’s fucking ridiculous, right?”

“But if you’re not, then what was the moment?”

“I– we sort of, uh, almost– kissed? I think?”

“Oh,” Alex says. “What do you mean by, ‘you think?’”

“I mean, I know we almost– I was– I was sitting in his lap, and it’s been– there’s been this thing, right? Where it’s been– he’s been, uh– it’s been sort of like, this weird game of chicken, I guess, where he– if we’re sitting near each other, he’ll like, move his hands…” Explaining this out loud might be the most uncomfortable Mikey’s ever felt. “It’s just– there was a thing that was sort of building, and I thought we were gonna– like, actually take it somewhere, but either I misread the whole thing, or he was just messing with my head and I took it too seriously, but he looked like he wanted to until my phone rang, and then things got weird.”

“Okay,” Alex says, trying to sound calm. “Uh. So, you say there’s been… flirting?”

Mikey gulps. “Yeah, I think so,” he says.

“Like, more than his usual–”

“Yes,” Mikey says. “I swear, I’m not– I told myself that it was just him being… the way he is, or whatever, but then it just went way farther.”

“But now he isn’t… doing that, anymore.”

“I mean, again, we’re talking, and hanging out. It’s not like– I don’t know.”

“You miss him,” Alex says simply.

“I see him all the fucking time,” Mikey says.

“You know what I mean,” Alex says. “You like him, you thought something was gonna happen, and now it feels like he shot you down.”

“I mean–” Mikey says, but he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“Did you want to kiss him?” Alex asks.

“I mean, yeah?” Mikey says. “At the time I did.”

“Do you still want to?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mikey says. “He doesn’t, so it’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” Alex says. “He could just think you don’t want to.”

“It’s not like that,” Mikey says.

“Why not?” Alex says.

“Because– I have a soulmate. You know that, right?”

“Now I do,” Alex says.

“Okay, well, I do, and after we almost– I think that he was… thinking about that, I guess, and that’s why things are weird,” Mikey says.

“What, you think he thinks you’d be… cheating?” Alex asks.

“I don’t know what he wants in the first place. He could just, like, hate me,” Mikey says.

“He couldn’t,” Alex says. “I’m pretty sure it’s genetically impossible for him to hate you.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever, the point is, I think that– that even if he wants to– even if he’s, like, into me,” he says, “I think soulmate shit is just… weird for him. I think that’s, like, a dealbreaker for him.”

“And your soulmate isn’t him?” Alex asks.

“I don’t know who my soulmate is,” Mikey says. “I didn’t look.”

“But it could be him,” Alex asks. “From what you saw, there’s nothing ruling him out.”

“What are you getting at?” Mikey asks.

“Well,” Alex says, “do you want him to be your soulmate?”

Mikey purses his lips and takes a deep, deep breath. “He hates soulmates,” he says. “He doesn’t want one.”

“Okay, but–”

“No, listen,” Mikey says. “If he got a soulmate, he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t _like_ them. He’d be angry at them. So the way it is now is– he doesn’t want to do shit with me if my soulmate is someone else, and he doesn’t want to– to be–” he has to take a second to steady his voice, because he’s, like, about to cry, and he really doesn’t want that to happen.

“Oh,” Alex says.

“Yeah,” Mikey says.

“I think that talking to him might still be a good idea,” Alex says. “Just, knowing you two–”

“It’s fine, it’s just– you’re right, I tried something, I got shot down, it sucks, I’ll get over it.”

“I thought you said– you said he looked like he wanted to,” Alex says.

“He did, but then my phone went off– this is your fault, by the way,” Mikey remembers suddenly. “It was a text from you.”

“What?” Alex says.

“Yeah, it was when we were texting you? A few weeks ago,” Mikey says.

“Oh, shit,” Alex says. “Dude, I am so fucking sorry, I did not mean to cockblock.”

Mikey’s still kind of on the verge of tears, but Alex sounds so worried about _that,_ of all things, and Mikey’s feeling so much, that he just– he laughs. He laughs for a solid minute, and Alex laughs with him for a bit, and then Alex stops laughing, but Mikey’s still going.

“You okay, man?” Alex says.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, wiping tears off his face. They might be tears of laughter, or maybe Mikey’s legitimately crying, he can’t really tell. “Well, no, I just– sorry, sorry, I’m really fucking messed up right now.”

“Alright,” Alex says, his voice hesitant. Mikey’s still kind of chuckling, and his head feels a little clearer.

“I just– wow, I want it to be him so fucking badly,” Mikey says, and maybe it should be more of a revelation, but that’s bullshit. Wanting Nate has been the one constant in Mikey’s entire fucking life since they met, and he’s so fucking tired of pretending he doesn’t care. “Just– that’s what this fucking is, right? I want him to be my soulmate, and he doesn’t wanna be mine.”

“Alright, so–”

“Thanks, but I think I’m done, like, talking about it.”

“Are you sure?” Alex says.

“Yep,” Mikey says. “I should, like, get going, anyway, but– this was, uh, actually helpful, dude.”

“Okay,” Alex says. “Uh, for the record, I– I hope he’s your soulmate, too.”

“Thanks, man,” Mikey says. He’s not really sure what he’s feeling, but it’s– it’s less muddy, now. He wants Nate, Nate doesn’t want him, he can get over it. “We should actually catch up. Soon.”

“Well, no big news on my end, Rochester is pretty fucking boring,” Alex says.

“No big soulmate crises?” Mikey says.

“Nah, that’s all you, man,” Alex says, and Mikey can hear him smile on the other end.

They talk for a few more minutes before they hang up. Mikey puts down his phone, rubs a hand over his face, and stares, very hard, at the wristguard on his left hand. The corners are starting to lift, and he thinks he should probably order another one at some point soon. He picks at it, and, for a second, considers ripping it off.

He doesn’t.

* * *

They get drunk after the Canada Russia Series, because that’s what happens at the Canada Russia series.

Drunk Nate’s been pretty much avoiding Mikey altogether since the almost-kiss, but he must be in a pretty good mood, because he’s had an arm around Mikey for the past ten minutes. It’s the longest extended contact they’ve had, since then, and Mikey can’t tell if he’s feeling thrilled or incredibly fucking sad about that.

It’s different, it always has been, the way they touch when they’re at a party, because Nate’s a performer, and Mikey knows that, so when they get kicked out of the room, Mikey fully expects Nate to disentangle them, except they stumble back to their room like that, clinging to each other and laughing.

They eventually fall into Mikey’s bed like that, too, and Mikey’s so happy his heart could soar.

“Hey,” Mikey says. “You’re back.”

Nate laughs. “What does that mean?”

“You’re here,” Mikey says.

“I’m always here,” Nate says. “Always with you.”

“But you’re _here-_ here,” Mikey says, rolling until his head is resting on Nate’s chest. It’s where it belongs, he thinks; Nate’s chest was pretty much made for his head.

“Okay,” Nate says, but Mikey thinks he understands.

“Why d’you hate soulmates?” Mikey says, and he’s apparently at the whiny phase of drunk.

“We talk about soulmates now?” Nate says, and he starts to run his fingers through Mikey’s hair, which feels fucking _awesome,_ and it’s been way too long since this happened.

“I wanna,” Mikey says. “I don’t know why you hate ‘em.”

Nate sighs a little, and it moves Mikey’s head. “I don’t hate them anymore, I guess,” he says. “Or, I kind of do, but– I dunno.”

“What don’t you know?” Mikey asks.

“So fucking much,” Nate says, and they both give that a small laugh. “I mean, I dunno, I don’t have a soulmate, right?”

“I do,” Mikey says.

There’s a beat, and Nate says, “How do you feel about it?”

“Having a soulmate?”

“Yeah.”

Mikey gives a sort of half-shrug. “Meh.”

“Meh?” Nate asks, and he sounds amused.

“C-,” Mikey says. “Or, actually, I don’t know, probably worse, but that feels rude.”

“Why worse?” Nate asks.

“All I know is that, like, fuckin– fate found this person, who’s, like, perfect for me, and will love me forever,” Mikey says. “But I don’t get to meet them yet. Just know they’re out there.”

“So you don’t actually, like, get your other half,” Nate says.

“Yep,” Mikey says.

“But it can’t be so bad,” Nate says. “I mean, it’s probably nice to have someone surefire, right?”

Mikey glances up at Nate’s face. “Did you just– defend my soulmate?”

“Never,” Nate says, smiling.

Mikey smiles back, and then says, “I mean, it’s– I dunno. Don’t think I’ll know how I feel about them until I, like, know who they are.”

“Don’t you love them already?” Nate asks, his voice a little more serious.

Mikey shakes his head. “They’re not, like, a person to me.”

“Do you think you’ve already met them?” Nate asks.

“I hope so,” Mikey says, before he can really think about it.

Nate doesn’t say anything to that, and Mikey’s eyes feel heavy, all of a sudden.

“Night,” Mikey says. “Love you.”

“You too,” Nate says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds familiar, but Mikey can’t quite place it.

* * *

The next morning, Mikey wakes up to Nate trying to gently push him off his chest.

“Rude,” Mikey grumbles, not fully awake.

“You’re heavy,” Nate says.

Mikey makes a noise and turns on his side, his back to Nate. “Come back.”

“What?”

“Spoon me,” Mikey says, annoyed that Nate’s making him explain this when he’s pretty sure he’s still kind of drunk from last night. “Go back to sleep.”

Nate sighs. “Mike–”

“It’s too fucking early, we’re gonna be hungover as shit, come the fuck on,” Mikey says. He doesn’t know how much of it comes out as actual words, but Nate does it, so Mikey figures he was effective enough.

“Good,” Mikey murmurs. “Stop being weird.”

“You’re weird,” Nate shoots back, but Mikey just smiles

* * *

A few things happen in the next couple of weeks.

The first thing that happens is that things get roughly back on track with Nate. At least, Nate doesn’t seem to recoil at the thought of touching Mikey anymore, and it feels less like walking on eggshells. Mikey can curl up with Nate when he needs to, and it’s always better like that. He feels welcome in Nate’s life again, and it’s so easy to fall back into the way things were before any of the flirting and subsequent fallout from said flirting happened.

The second thing that happens is that Dylan gets sent back to Erie. He’s mostly angry, but not hopeless, so Mikey thinks he’s gonna be okay.

The third thing that happens is that Mikey gets named to the World Juniors camp roster, officially.

“You’re gonna make the team,” Nate announces, like it’s a fact.

“It’s a big fucking deal,” Mikey says. “They’re gonna be harsh.”

“You’re overthinking it because of Stromer,” Nate says. “He’s turning you all dramatic.”

Which is, like, fair.

“I think it’s all the returners,” Mikey says. “But, like, if I make it, I’m gonna be the 13th forward.”

“Well, Alex will be here either way,” Nate says.

“Ah, the old gang,” Mikey says.

“I miss that kid,” Nate says. “Like, a whole fucking bunch.”

“The team’s so much less Swedish without him,” Mikey agrees.

Nate shifts a bit, then stretches his arm over the back of the couch. Mikey knows an invitation when he sees one, so he leans against Nate, and Nate looks content. “I hope you get to play,” he says. “It’d be fun.”

“It would be,” Mikey says.

“I’d wear your jersey, obviously,” Nate says, and it’s so fucking unfair that he gets to sound casual about it when the thought of Nate wearing his jersey puts butterflies in Mikey’s stomach. Jesus, McLeod, get it together.

“What jersey?” Mikey says. “A Steelheads one?”

“Got any old Hockey Canada ones?” Nate asks.

“Uh,” Mikey says, thinking. “Top prospects jersey is somewhere.”

“You expect me to represent Team Cherry?” Nate says, faux-offended. “My loyalties are harder-won than that.”

“Either that, or you can wear a Steelheads jersey, but you should probably wear red, y’know.”

Nate sighs. “Goddamnit, you’re right.”

“So, Team Cherry?” Mikey says, smirking.

“Fine,” Nate says.

“This is all conditional,” Mikey says. “If I make the team.”

“Well, you have to give it to me before you go to camp,” Nate says. “So I can root for you to make the team.”

“What, you’re just gonna wear it around?” Mikey asks.

Nate shrugs. “Yeah. It’ll be lucky.”

“You can’t just decide that my jersey is lucky,” Mikey says.

“Actually, I can, and I did,” Nate says. “You should give it to me, so we can maximize its luckiness.”

“There are some people who take superstitions seriously, you know,” Mikey says, standing up. “Who would be, like, offended that you just decided something was lucky.”

Nate stands up. “I think any jersey of yours is lucky,” he says.

Mikey blushes at that, but he turns around before Nate can see.

They go upstairs and Mikey actually gets the jersey out, and he doesn’t expect Nate to actually slip it on, but as soon as he tosses it over, Nate slips it over his head.

“Gotta make sure it’s not too small,” Nate says. The jersey gets caught on his hoodie, and he’s kind of tangled up.

“It’s not going to be,” Mikey says, going over to help. “I’m only two inches shorter than you.” He tugs the hem of the jersey down before he reaches behind Nate to pull his hood out of the collar.

“Thanks,” Nate says, his eyes a little wide. Mikey realizes how close he’s standing, and awkwardly coughs as he takes a half step back.

The thing is, Nate and Mikey share clothes plenty. Mikey’s used to seeing Nate wearing clothing that he’s worn, even clothing that has his name and number on it. That’s something Mikey can handle. But the idea of Nate wearing his jersey, something he would only wear to show off the fact that he’s cheering for Mikey, is so different and so much more difficult for Mikey to process, emotionally.

“It fits,” Mikey says. “Told you I’m not short.”

“Sleeves could be longer,” Nate says, tugging on them.

Mikey smiles. “You look like my number one fan.” He can’t stop staring.

“It’s ‘cause I am, obviously,” Nate says, then gives him a small smile.

The impulse to kiss Nate is pretty much constant, these days, but it sort of flares up, so Mikey takes a deep breath. “You and Judi can fight for that spot,” he says.

“I don’t wanna fight Judi,” Nate says. “Judi’s cool. I’m your number one fan who isn’t related to you, how’s that?”

Mikey pretends to think about it for a second. “Yeah, fair,” he says.

“Sweet,” Nate says, and then he moves to take the jersey off, which means his hoodie and t-shirt also ride up a little bit, and Mikey has to take some very deep breaths to cope with that.

“C’mon, let’s go back downstairs,” Mikey says, and he turns around and heads out the door. He makes it a few steps before he realizes that Nate didn’t actually follow him, so he turns around and sees Nate staring at the jersey in his hands. He looks up at Mikey, and for a second, his expression is scared, like he’s been caught.

“Dude, let’s go,” Mikey says. “I wanna beat you at Mario Kart at least three times before dinner.”

“Not gonna happen,” Nate says, and this time they actually walk out of the room together.

* * *

It’s probably sad that the whole jersey thing from earlier is keeping Mikey up. Mikey’s good at sleeping, usually, but right now, he’s tossing and turning and he just can’t stop thinking, and it’s bad, because Mikey has shit to do tomorrow, and he’s fucking exhausted. The only person he knows who regularly stays up late is Dylan, because Dylan is pathologically incapable of making good choices, so after lying in bed for what feels like hours, Mikey calls him.

Except: someone else answers Dylan’s phone.

“‘lo?” a sleepy voice asks, a little too deep to be Dylan.

“Uh, hi, is Dylan there?”

“What?” the voice says.

“Uh, this is Dylan’s phone?” Mikey says. “Who is this?”

“Oh, shit,” the voice says, and then it calls, “Dyl?”

There’s some rustling in the background, and after a few minutes, Dylan answers the phone.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dylan says.

“Dude, it’s Mikey. Who the fuck was that?”

“Uh, not important right now,” Dylan says.

“It very much fucking is,” Mikey says. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Why did you call me at– fucking– what time is it?”

“1:30,” Mikey says.

“Okay, either you’re drunk, you’re a dick, or there’s some emergency going on,” Dylan says.

Mikey sighs. “I just– couldn’t sleep, having feelings, whatever.”

“You called me to talk about your feelings?” Dylan says.

“Well, I have to sleep, and I figured talking might help,” Mikey says. “But you’re clearly busy with someone.”

“He’s asleep again,” Dylan says. “You’re good.”

“I’m going to ask you so many questions about this,” Mikey says.

“Sure,” Dylan says. “But first, your feelings.”

“Right,” Mikey says. “So, I realized that I’m, like, super into him, after things were weird, and things are less weird now, and I figure that now that I know, I should be able to get over it, right?”

“I… guess? I’m kinda shit at that,” Dylan says.

“You got over McDavid, like, mostly,” Mikey says. “Right?”

“I mean, define ‘get over,’” Dylan says.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mikey asks.

Dylan shrugs. “You don’t– you either get closure, get distance, or get together, right? Like, being real with yourself is good, but you should also– I mean, why are you asking me?”

“I dunno, you went through a similar thing with McDavid,” Mikey says. “I wanna know how you dealt with it.”

“I dealt with it because he left, so I didn’t really have a choice. And even then, I didn’t– it wasn’t– things don’t just wrap up neatly.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Mikey asks.

“Talk to him?” Dylan says. “I mean, not before camp, but that’s the best advice I can give.”

Mikey groans. “If I wanted to hear that, I’d have called… literally anyone else.”

“Thought you were only calling ‘cause I don’t sleep.”

“And because you’re great at avoiding feelings, which is what I’m trying to do.”

“Well, I mean… it’ll come up again, eventually. You can’t just hope really hard you stop feeling something,” Dylan says. “And I’m telling you to avoid them until after camp, remember?”

“It’s not like you talked to McDavid, and you two are fine,” Mikey says.

“Uh,” Dylan says.

After a second, when it becomes clear that Dylan’s not going to say anything else, Mikey says, “Dyl?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s happening with you and McDavid? Things are fine, right?” If Dylan and Connor aren’t fine, there might be no hope for pining best friends anywhere.

“No, yeah, we’re good,” Dylan says. “It’s just– um. There may have been… talking? Recently?”

“What?” Mikey says, and then something clicks. “Holy fuck, dude, was _that_ who answered your phone earlier?”

“Maybe? I can–”

“Why the fuck is he in Erie?” Mikey asks.

“It’s complicated, alright? Don’t tell anyone,” Dylan pleads. “I promise I’ll tell you everything when I can.”

“When’s that gonna be?” Mikey asks.

“After World Juniors,” Dylan says.

“Fine,” Mikey says. “So, what should I do?”

“Play your best game, think it out, don’t– you can’t just stop feeling things.”

“But I wanna,” Mikey complains.

“Tough,” Dylan says. “Go to bed, we don’t have that much time before camp.”

“Fuck you,” Mikey says.

“Night, love you too,” Dylan says sarcastically.

“Right back at you, buddy,” Mikey says, and then he hangs up. He immediately sends Dylan a text that says, _kinda wish he was my soulmate tbh,_ because it feels like a good thing to have in writing.

 _rooting 4 u,_ Dylan says, and then, a few seconds later, _mostly for canada._

Mikey doesn’t respond, but he does fall asleep a little easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -next update'll be tomorrow!  
> -*ignores anyone else who wore an old mcleod jersey to world juniors irl and pretends it was their special thing*  
> -dyl + connor, wyd


	4. Chapter 4

**(Nate)**

Alex is back in town, which means that the boys are coming over to Nate’s billets’ place to turn up later, as friends should. Right now, though, Nate and Alex are chilling in Nate’s bedroom alone, because Mikey’s convinced that spending every waking hour in the gym will help him make the Team Canada roster. Not that Nate would rather hang out with Mikey than Alex– just, he kind of wishes Mikey was here too. He doesn’t miss Mikey, because he just saw Mikey a few hours ago, and missing him would be ridiculous, except he kind of always misses Mikey, because–

Whatever.

This should be about him and Alex getting drunk and catching up, not Nate getting drunk and missing Mikey, so he makes a tipsy promise to himself that he isn’t going to mention Mikey until Alex does.

“Heard Clouder got a soulmate,” Alex says.

Which is the one conversation Nate doesn’t want to have about Mikey, but, whatever. “Yep.”

“How’re you holding up?” Alex asks.

Nate turns to Alex, and his stomach does something weird. “Uh, fine?”

“Cool,” Alex says.

“I mean,” Nate says, “why would I not be fine?” He doesn’t know why he’s pushing this, but Alex is way too fucking cryptic sometimes.

“You guys have your thing,” Alex says, which explains absolutely nothing.

“What do you mean?”

“Like– inseparable best friends? I dunno, just wondering if you had any strong feelings about it.”

“Well, I don’t,” Nate says, a little too defensive. He tries to backtrack. “I mean, I do, because it’s a big deal for my best friend, but it’s not– he’s not really thinking about it, so I’m not.”

“You’re not thinking about it?” Alex asks. “Don’t you wanna know what they’re like?”

“Not really,” Nate says, tightening his fist. It’s not Alex’s fault that Nate is filled with a probably-irrational amount of rage toward Mikey’s soulmate, but that doesn’t make it any easier to not snap at him.

“You’re probably gonna spend a lot of time with them,” Alex says, and– Nate’s thought that on his own, but it feels very different hearing someone else say it, and Nate feels all traces of anger immediately disappear.

“You think?” Nate asks, and he cringes internally at his own eagerness.

“I mean, yeah,” Alex says. “If you’re not his soulmate, you’re his– something. Right?”

And that– “What do you mean, if I’m not his soulmate?”

“I mean… technically, you could be,” Alex says, more nonchalant than Nate thinks he has the right to be.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Nate says, his head kind of spinning.

“Yeah, I mean, just– it’s a possibility,” Alex says. “Have you seriously never considered it?”

“No,” Nate says emphatically. He has put a lot of effort into not imagining a future where he and Mikey are soulmates, because it’s just… not a good path to go down.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want a soulmate.”

“Not even if it were Mikey?” Alex says, raising an eyebrow, and since when does Alex fucking Nylander ask personal questions about Nate’s feelings for his best friend?

“That’s a really different question,” Nate says, not wanting to lie but not wanting to answer.

“Is it?” Alex asks.

“Yeah,” Nate says. “Mikey doesn’t– he has a soulmate but no name. He doesn’t like it, you know. Some of us want to be able to choose who we end up with.”

“I think you can always choose,” Alex says. “You don’t have to marry your soulmate. I think it’s just the person most people would choose, anyway.”

“Probably. Some of us don’t wanna be told what to do,” Nate says.

“Alright, but if you could choose your soulmate, who would it be?”

Nate sighs. “C’mon, man, this is weird.”

“Why?” Alex asks.

“Because most people do choose their soulmates, right?” Nate says. “Like, that’s what falling in love is, or whatever.”

“But if you had to wake up with a name on your wrist, whose name would it be?”

“I mean,” Nate says, and then he lets out a deep breath. “Probably Mikey’s, if we’re being, y’know, 100% honest.”

Alex is quiet for a second. “I kind of figured as much.”

“Am I that obvious?” Nate asks.

“I mean– again, you two are, like, so close. You’re gonna give his soulmate a run for their money.”

“Thanks,” Nate says, smiling a bit. “I… kinda hate them?”

Alex nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t,” Nate says. “It’s his life, right? And I– I wanna be there for the rest of it. It would be really fucking bad if I hated his soulmate.”

“If they’re really Mikey’s soulmate, they probably won’t hate you,” Alex says.

That thought comforts Nate. “Thanks,” he says.

“You two are gonna be good,” Alex says.

The conversation switches to other stuff, because their friendship can only handle large bouts of emotion in short bursts, but Nate doesn’t stop thinking about it.

He and Mikey… are gonna be good. It’s _them_. Nate’s tried avoiding Mikey, and he’s tried distance, and it hasn’t worked, because he and Mikey have something good. They have something really fucking good, and Nate doesn’t want to fuck with it. Pushing Mikey away fucked with it, but he doesn’t think that just letting things happen will fuck with it.

And… Nate likes Mikey.

Which sounds dumb, because duh, Mikey’s his best friend and he loves him so much it literally takes his breath away sometimes, but he also… likes him. Like-likes him. He has a fucking _crush,_ and that makes so much sense, because Mikey is beautiful and he makes Nate smile. Mikey has a soulmate he doesn’t want, and Mikey wants Nate, and Mikey leaned in to kiss Nate, once.

And, yeah, Nate wants Mikey, but what he wants is to kiss Mikey, and to make Mikey smile in a forever kind of way, and to take him out on a fucking date where they can order one milkshake with two straws like the sappy assholes they are.

The idea of wanting Mikey has hurt for so long, and Nate’s just tired of being in pain around someone who makes him so fucking happy. Because Michael McLeod has made Nate’s head whirl and his heart race, but he’s also made him happy. Nate is allowed to want to make Mikey happy in return, and it’s not a bad thing, because even with a soulmate, they can do what they want, and keep making each other happy.

It’s okay. It’s Nate, and Mikey, and it’s okay, and it could be really, really good, even with Mikey’s soulmate shit. Because even if fate is a piece of crap, Nate and Mikey still get to choose.

Nate has to stop himself from smiling as Alex rambles on about the Tinder scene in Rochester, but he doesn’t stop feeling happy.

* * *

Mikey’s one of the last people to arrive later, and Nate isn’t, like, hovering by the door, but he’s certainly not going to let it out of his sight.

It pays off, though, when he’s the first to greet Mikey and Ryan as they walk through the door.

“Dude,” Nate says, and gives each of them an appropriately long bro-hug, because he knows how to be subtle.

“Sorry we’re late, Mikey couldn’t decide what to wear,” Ryan says, blatantly throwing Mikey under the bus.

“Dressing to impress, Clouder?” Nate says, giving Mikey a smirk that is a little less sarcastic than it should be.

To Nate’s delight, it makes Mikey blush. “You’re dicks,” he says, and he shrugs off his jacket.

“You love us,” Nate says, and he puts an arm around Mikey’s shoulder, because he fucking wants to. Considering the smile it earns him from Mikey, he thinks it’s the right choice.

Nate lets Mikey’s smile wash over him, and Nate feels– fuck, he feels butterflies, and he’s pretty sure there are angels singing in the distance, because that’s just the kind of guy Michael McLeod is. When he’s happy, everyone feels better for it, because his smile is just fucking sacred, and fuck, how has Nate not thought to enjoy this until now?

“Let me get your coat,” Nate says, because he’s a polite host, and because he’s overcome with the urge to, like, do things for Mikey. “I can get yours too,” he says to Ryan.

“Thanks,” Mikey says, his face red and pleased as he hands Nate his jacket.

Ryan looks back and forth between them. “Yeah,” he says, giving Nate a weird look before tossing his coat over Nate’s free arm and wandering into the party.

“I’m gonna, uh, run upstairs and put these on my bed,” Nate says to Mikey. “Keg’s in the kitchen, I think there’s vodka and shit going around too, and Alex was in the basement last time I saw him.”

“Sweet, I’ll go say hi to him,” Mikey says. “I’ll catch you later?”

“For sure,” Nate says, like a fucking dork.

“Cool,” Mikey says, giving him a smile.

After Nate unceremoniously dumps the jackets on top of the pile, he heads into the kitchen to grab a drink, and, after a second of debate, grabs one for Mikey as well, then makes his way toward the basement.

When he gets down there, Mikey and Alex are hanging by the beer pong table, where Hague and Tippett are playing what looks to be an incredibly intense game.

“Yo,” Nate says, walking up to them. “Got you one.”

“Sweet, thanks,” Mikey says, flashing Nate another smile.

“Such a good host,” Alex says, giving Nate a look. Nate gives him a miniscule shrug in response, and Alex seems satisfied by that.

“If hockey doesn’t work out, I’m gonna become– what’re those people called, who don’t actually have jobs but throw lots of parties?” Nate says.

“Rich?” Alex says.

“Kardashians?” Mikey adds.

Nate shakes his head. “No, there’s a word for it. Like Paris Hilton, or whatever.”

“Does Paris Hilton throw a lot of parties?” Alex asks.

“I don’t know, I don’t get invited,” Nate says.

“Rude of her,” Mikey says.

“Isn’t it?” Nate says. “But seriously, what’s the word?”

“Socialite,” Owen says, fishing a ping pong ball out of a cup before chugging its contents.

“Yes,” Nate says. “If hockey doesn’t work out, I’m gonna be a socialite.”

“Dream big, man,” Alex says, amused.

“Does that mean Clouder is Nicole Richie?” Nic asks, turning to them.

“Who?” Nate asks.

“Paris Hilton’s best friend?” Nic says, like he somehow expected Nate to know that.

“Why do you know who Paris Hilton’s friends are?” Nate asks.

“Dude,” Nic says. “They had their own TV show. It’s fucking incredible.”

“Have you watched it?” Mikey asks, sounding mildly horrified.

“Have you not?” This time it’s Alex speaking.

“What the fuck,” Nate says. “Has everyone seen this show?”

“I haven’t,” Owen says as he lines up the two cups he has left.

“They go and like, learn to live like normal people,” Alex says. “It’s funny.”

“Okay, well, that’s not what I’m going for. I’m already a normal person, why would I try and go back to that?”

Alex shrugs. “It’s what socialites do.”

“Not all socialites,” Nic says. “The Kardashians?”

“True,” Owen says. “I don’t think Kris could handle it. Well, she’s a Jenner, but–”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll be a Kardashian,” Nate says, cutting Owen off because Nate is most certainly not capable of keeping up with any talk of Kardashians, and Tip knows it. “Glad that’s settled.”

“You’ll probably be a hockey player first,” Mikey says. “Also, dude, we should play.” He nods toward the table.

“Once I beat Tip,” Nic says, tossing the ball right into one of the last cups as Owen flips him off.

“Cocky,” Alex says.

Nic does beat Owen eventually, though he misses the next shot and Owen gets one more in before Nic wipes him out. They both wander off, because they’ve probably had enough to drink, and Nate and Mikey both definitely haven’t had enough, but Gibby comes along to pair up with Alex so they can play doubles.

Here’s the thing about Nate and Mikey at beer pong: they’re pretty hit or miss. When they’re good, they’re pretty much unstoppable. But right now, Nate’s kind of distracted, so he misses his first two, and Mikey makes his last one, but it’s pretty clear it’s gonna be _that_ kind of night.

Sure enough, they’re both tipsy as they go to work resetting the table after Alex and Gibby pretty much destroy them, giggling the entire time, and then they lose their second game, and they’re pretty fucking wasted by the end of it.

Nate honestly doesn’t really remember a huge amount from the party itself, but he does remember flavored vodka and cheap whiskey and Mikey hanging onto him, and him hanging onto Mikey, and not caring about whether it goes too far, as long as Mikey is happy. He lets himself enjoy it, really enjoy it, and no one even seems to blink an eye, besides Ryan, which makes Nate wonder if he’s always been this blatantly lovesick.

Later, after the guys who are leaving have left and the ones who are staying– Alex and Ryan– are asleep in the basement, it’s just– Nate and Mikey, alone, in Nate’s room, lying on his bed with Mikey between Nate’s legs, and Nate can’t picture anything better.

“We should watch that show,” Mikey says. “The Paris Hilton one.”

Nate laughs. “Why the fuck would we?”

“We have to figure out which one of us is Paris,” Mikey says, like it’s obvious.

The show, unfortunately, isn’t on Netflix, but Nate does do some dramatic readings of some of the more notable quotes he finds on Buzzfeed, and Mikey seems to like that even more.

“Wall stuff,” Mikey says, incredulous. “Oh my gosh.”

“That’s hot,” Nate says.

“That’s hot,” Mikey confirms. “I’m putting the Jersey one on my finsta.”

“I wanted to do that,” Nate says.

“But if you’re Paris and I’m Nicole, that’s my quote,” Mikey says, and maybe his logic is really good, or maybe Nate’s too drunk to argue, but he kind of just accepts it.

“You’re silly,” he says, and he nestles his nose in Mikey’s hair and smells it, which is probably weird, but they’re drunk and Nate loves him, so.

“You like my shampoo?” Mikey laughs.

“I like a lot of things about you,” Nate says, and it’s a little less giggly than it should be, and maybe a bit more fond.

Whoops.

“I… I like a lot of things about you too,” Mikey says, and he’s trying to keep his voice light, but something catches in his throat.

“Mikey,” Nate says. He doesn’t really know what else to add, but he wants to say… something.

“No,” Mikey says, and Nate jerks away from Mikey, except he’s sitting upright against the backboard, so he bangs his shoulder blade.

“Fuck, ow,” he says.

“Shit,” Mikey says, turning to face Nate. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t– are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Nate says, looking at the bedpost, which is conveniently located far away from Mikey’s face.

“I just mean– ‘no’ to– I didn’t– ugh,” Mikey says. “This is confusing.”

“What?” Nate asks, still looking away.

“That wasn’t, like, a _no_ no,” Mikey says. “I mean– okay, I didn’t know what you were going to ask, but, uh, I wouldn’t want to say no to you.”

And, yep, those are butterflies. “What?” he repeats, a bit softer this time.

“Are we on the same page?” Mikey asks.

Nate looks at Mikey, only to find that Mikey’s gaze is fixed on him so intently that Nate has to look away, otherwise he’ll do something dumb, like kiss him.

“Don’t know what page you’re on,” Nate says, a little breathy. Fuck, his stomach is doing… something, right now, and it’s so fucking _much_.

“We’re drunk,” Mikey says.

“I don’t wanna do this drunk,” Nate says.

“So we’re– we’re doing this?” Mikey asks. “Like– you know.”

“You and me,” Nate says. “Yeah.” He reaches out and gives Mikey’s bicep a squeeze before running his hand up and down the length of Mikey’s arm.

“You want this.”

“Yes.” Nate doesn’t know if he’s ever heard his own voice sound this serious, or this quiet.

“I mean– you want–“ Mikey says, and his face moves a little closer to Nate’s, and it takes Nate a half a second to catch on.

The last time they’d almost kissed, Nate had decided that he was gonna wait until Mikey kissed him, and that had ended with Nate crying in Mikey’s bathroom and being afraid to touch Mikey for the next few weeks. This time, Nate really, really doesn’t want that to happen, so he surges forward to kiss Mikey before he can think about it.

For a fraction of a second, it’s just warm and soft, and then it hits Nate that he is kissing Michael McLeod, and that Michael McLeod is kissing back.

Mikey is kissing back enthusiastically, and sloppily, and eagerly. He’s opening his mouth and cupping Nate’s face like he– like he fucking _wants_ Nate, and it’s kind of awesome.

“This is what you were talking about, right?” Mikey says, pulling back for a second, and Nate’s brain is trying very hard to process a lot of things, mostly how close Mikey’s face is to his and the way Mikey is panting a little.

“Yes, yeah,” Nate says, and then Mikey leans back in.

Nate thinks they maybe should have waited to do this, because this is some messy making out, and he knows they can do better when they’re sober, and they’ve had some time to talk this over. It’s hard to pull away, though, when Mikey’s lips– and they are, truly, excellent lips– are right fucking there.

He does, though, because he’s on a good decision kick tonight. “We should stop,” he says.

“Why?” Mikey asks.

“We’re drunk,” Nate says.

“I can’t– we can’t yet,” Mikey says. “I shouldn’t, until after camp.”

“What?” Nate says, confused.

“I was– I was going to talk to you,” Mikey says. “After World Juniors and stuff.”

“You were–”

“We can’t– we shouldn’t, like, start stuff now,” Mikey says. “I’ll be all distracted, and– you know. It’s World Juniors. I wasn’t supposed to talk to you until after.”

“Says who?”

“Stromer.”

“Dylan Strome told you to not talk to me until after World Juniors?” Nate says, very mildly amused beneath all the terror, because that is a very Dylan Strome way to talk about feelings.

“He did tell me to talk to you,” Mikey says. “Just, after the tournament.”

“Were you gossiping about me?” Nate says. “Talking about me behind my back?”

“I was getting some advice,” Mikey says.

“From Dylan Strome?” Nate shifts until he’s, like, actually lying down, and Mikey lies down next to him, then, after a brief moment of hesitation, puts his head on Nate’s chest.

“I had a point to make before,” Mikey says, and Nate smiles at the indignance in his voice, even though Mikey can’t see it.

“Alright, sorry,” Nate says. “You were saying?”

“We should wait, if we’re going to…”

“Talk?”

“Talk,” Mikey says. “About, you know, this.”

“So, we’re just going to– to put this off,” Nate says.

“If you’re okay with that,” Mikey says. “I just– for Canada?”

Nate laughs, mostly incredulous. “For Canada,” he repeats.

“I do want this, though,” Mikey says. “I want to talk, and– and if you want to talk too, that’s, like, really good, but if we talk now, I’m leaving soon.”

“That’s true,” Nate says, and he runs a hand through Mikey’s hair.

Mikey brings his hand up to Nate’s chest and starts rubbing small circles with his thumb. “We should still– tonight, I mean.”

“We should still what tonight?”

“Keep kissing?” Mikey says, looking up at Nate.

“What about Canada?” Nate says, smiling a bit.

“We already kissed,” Mikey points out. “So the damage to our nation has been done.”

“That’s true,” Nate says.

“So kissing more tonight– that would be fine.”

“Just fine?” Nate says, faux-pouting.

“I mean, we’re still drunk,” Mikey says. “It’s not gonna be great kissing”

“Maybe we should kiss til we’re sober, then,” Nate says.

“Good call,” Mikey says, and then he leans in again.

To their credit, it’s neater, this time. It’s not that Nate’s head is clearer, because even if he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to think straight, not with Mikey– fuck, with Mikey on top of him, pressed up against him with purpose, every bit as into this as Nate is. Nate didn’t know that he could learn anything new about Mikey, didn’t know that there were parts of Mikey he hadn’t even touched, but everything about this is lighting Nate on _fire,_ in a way he’s never been before, with Mikey or with anyone else.

He touches Mikey, because he can. He puts his hands fucking everywhere, on Mikey’s back, on Mikey’s hips, on Mikey’s face, in Mikey’s hair; he grips and he squeezes and he pays attention to every second of it, to how Mikey feels in his hands, to how Mikey fits. He’s warm, and he’s soft, and it feels so fucking good that Nate moans, a little bit. Mikey shudders at the noise, and Nate commits the feeling to memory.

Mikey tugs at Nate’s shoulder, and then rolls them over, and they nearly bump into the wall, but that doesn’t even matter, because Mikey is sprawled out underneath Nate, and Nate is just– staring.

Mikey’s hair is messed up, and his lips are red and used, and he’s breathless. His eyes are wide and dark and he’s looking at Nate, and Nate– Nate wants. Nate _wants,_ and he’s warm all over, and he’s already hard, and Mikey can probably tell. Nate adjusts himself so that his thigh is slotted between Mikey’s, and Mikey gasps and closes his eyes, and Nate can feel Mikey’s cock twitch against his leg.

“Nate,” Mikey says, and Nate has always been pretty indifferent about his name, but on Mikey’s lips, he thinks it might be the best word in the entire goddamn universe.

“Shit, Mike,” Nate says, and it comes out as a whisper.

“I want– we shouldn’t, but–”

“Not tonight,” Nate agrees.

“Fuck, you feel–” Mikey says, and then he grinds against Nate’s thigh, and Nate lets out a small groan.

“You’re killing me here, McLeod,” Nate says, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut just to get his body to slow down a little.

“Sorry,” Mikey says, and he’s laughing, this small, breathless thing.

“Okay, if we’re not– I need, like, a second,” Nate says, and he gets up on top of Mikey, even though it’s literally the last thing he wants to do.

“Sorry,” Mikey repeats, propping himself onto his elbows, and he looks unfairly good.

“Literally, just, stop being so hot,” Nate says, and Mikey laughs. “Yeah, that– that shit? Cut that out.”

“What, laughing?” Mikey says, and he does stop laughing, but then he grins.

“That too. Smiling,” Nate says.

Mikey’s face contorts into some attempt at a frown, and he still looks too fucking cute.

“Okay, that’s– no, just, wear a bag over your face, or something,” Nate says, and Mikey laughs again.

“Aw, you can’t resist me,” Mikey says, crawling over to join Nate on the edge of the bed.

Nate shrugs. “Sorry not sorry?” he says, because it’s not like he’s going to deny it.

“We should get some water,” Mikey says. “Maybe watch a movie, try to sober up.”

Nate very much likes that plan.

They do get some water, and a bit of food, too, except Mikey sits on the kitchen counter with his legs splayed, and Nate has no choice but to make out with him for a bit, this time quietly, because Alex and Ryan could feasibly hear them and wake up, and that would mean they’d probably have to stop making out. Eventually, they manage to eat and drink enough between kisses that they both feel a little more steady, and then they wander back up to Nate’s room and lie down on the bed, cuddling as usual, except this time, Nate presses a kiss into Mikey’s hair like he always sort of wants to.

“We should watch that show,” Mikey says.

“What show?” Nate asks absently, too focused on the way Mikey’s leaning into him.

“ _The Simple Life,_ ” Mikey says. “The Paris Hilton one.”

Nate laughs. “I thought we decided that I was Paris?”

“We should watch it,” Mikey says. “Just to make sure.”

“Right,” Nate says, skeptical.

“Please?” Mikey says, and he actually turns around and bats his eyelashes at Nate. It’s a really obvious move, and Nate would chirp Mikey for it, except it totally works, because Nate is fucking weak, and Mikey has really, really, long eyelashes.

“Fine,” Nate says, sighing as he types it into his browser. “We really should get a bag to put over your head.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything, just looks incredibly pleased as he presses a kiss to Nate’s chest, and Nate figures he can tolerate a few hours of garbage reality TV if that’s what he gets in exchange.

They spend more time making out than actually watching the show, which is pretty fucking awesome, but at some point, the alcohol wears off and Nate finds it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

“Hey,” he says to Mikey, his voice barely there, but Mikey is already asleep on Nate’s chest. Nate smiles, and he manages to close his laptop and put it on the floor before he passes out too.

* * *

When they wake up, it’s to the sound of someone pounding on the door to Nate’s bedroom.

“Guys,” a voice says, and Nate thinks it’s Ryan. “Wake the fuck up, we gotta get home.”

“Sorry,” Nate says. “Give us a few?”

“Quick,” Ryan says, and Nate hears footsteps moving away from his door.

Nate doesn’t realize Mikey’s in his arms until he feels Mikey move. “He’s a brat,” Mikey says.

“Yeah,” Nate says, blinking his eyes open. The sun is beaming through the window, and it’s reflecting off of Mikey’s hair.

“Morning,” Mikey says.

“Don’t wanna get up,” Nate says, and then Mikey turns to look at him, and Nate remembers.

Right. Kissing, feelings, hockey, Canada, more kissing, then sleep, and then right now.

“I should,” Mikey says. “Parents wanted us back by lunchtime.”

“Alright,” Nate says, and he moves over so Mikey can get out of bed.

They both fell asleep fully clothed, so Mikey just grabs his jacket and shoes from the floor. Neither of them is saying anything, and Nate fucking hates it, but he doesn’t know what he can say. Mikey’s not looking at him, and it feels really fucking awful, and Nate knows, he _knows_ that neither of them wants this silence.

“So,” Nate says, as Mikey shrugs his coat on, and fuck, he looks good. “We’ll talk.”

“Yes,” Mikey says, firm.

“Okay,” Nate says, and Mikey opens his mouth like he’s going to say something back, but he just nods and walks out of the room. Nate follows, of course, because it would be weird not to.

When they get downstairs, Ryan and Alex are waiting by the door. Ryan is ready to go, but Alex is still barefoot, leaning casually against the door.

“Hey,” Nate says.

“Hi,” Alex says. “You two seem tired.”

“Didn’t get much sleep,” Nate says.

“How late were you guys up?” Ryan asks.

“Late enough that you should drive,” Mikey says.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Nate says, then gives them whatever he can muster of a smile. “I should probably, like, finish getting ready. Drive safe!” He cringes internally at how forced it sounds, and then gives Ryan and Mikey each a fist bump before running back upstairs.

He closes the door behind him and hears the three of them exchanging goodbyes, and he really should change into new clothes, but this shirt still kind of smells like Mikey, and he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing with his life anymore.

There’s some general rustling on the first floor, the sound of doors opening and closing, but Nate doesn’t really process it until his own door opens.

“Hi,” he hears Mikey’s voice say, and he looks up to see that Mikey’s still here, apparently, with a shy look on his face.

“Hey,” Nate says.

Mikey closes the door behind him. “I told them I left something in your room.”

“You didn’t,” Nate says dumbly.

“I didn’t,” Mikey confirms, and then he walks up to Nate, pulls him close, and kisses him.

Nate kisses back pretty much immediately, and it’s probably the best fucking kiss of his life, which might just be because Mikey pulled some rom-com shit to make it happen, but objectively, Mikey’s lips are firm and sure and his tongue is pressing into Nate’s mouth, and it’s fucking electrifying. He doesn’t think as he walks them back until Mikey’s pressed against the door, and he doesn’t think as he tugs at Mikey’s jacket and collar and moves his mouth down to the place where Mikey’s neck meets his shoulder, kissing along the way.

“Fuck,” Mikey says breathily, as Nate begins to suck a hickey into his skin. “Fuck, please–”

“Shh,” Nate says, smiling into Mikey’s skin.

Mikey nods, and he looks strained, like it’s taking every bit of willpower he has to not make noise right now. Nate thinks it’s a good look on him, especially when he scrapes his teeth particularly hard and a small whimper escapes Mikey’s lips.

“Fuck,” Nate murmurs, then he kisses Mikey again.

“I should go,” Mikey says, his eyes still closed and his breath uneven. “Ryan’s waiting in the car.”

“You should,” Nate says, but neither of them moves.

“We really will talk,” Mikey says. “I promise. I want to.”

“I do too,” Nate says.

Mikey smiles at him, kind of dopey. “Cool,” he says.

“Cool,” Nate says, smiling right back.

“So, I’ll, uh, see you?” Mikey says.

“Yep,” Nate says. “And no more of this until–”

“After camp,” Mikey says. “And– whatever.”

“Should I still wear your jersey?” Nate asks.

“Yes,” Mikey says quickly, and then he blushes. “It’s lucky, right?”

“Thought you didn’t believe it was lucky yet,” Nate says.

Mikey shrugs. “Make it lucky.”

“Will do,” Nate says, and then he kisses Mikey one last time.

“I should really go,” Mikey says.

“Yeah,” Nate says, stepping back. As if on cue, a car horn blares.

“That’s Ryan,” Mikey says, looking apologetic as he opens the door.

“S’alright,” Nate says, giving Mikey a small smile.

They make their way downstairs as Mikey wraps his scarf around his neck and buttons up his jacket again, and his face is still kind of flushed as he walks out the front door, but he’s smiling over his shoulder as he heads toward his car.

Nate watches him drive off, and spends a few more seconds just staring at the front yard, trying to let everything sink in.

“Hey,” Alex says, startling him.

“Hi,” Nate says, trying to cover up his surprise.

“You good, man?” Alex says. “You’re all jumpy.”

“Fine,” Nate says. “Super good.”

“Really,” Alex says, raising an eyebrow.

“Really,” Nate lies.

Alex sees right through it. “What happened to your hair, dude?”

“What?” Nate asks, quickly bringing his hand up to fix it.

“Nate,” Alex says, crossing his arms.

“Nothing happened,” Nate says, probably too defensively.

“Nothing?” Alex says. “Really, nothing at all?”

“I mean… a little bit of stuff happened?” Nate says. “Not like– we haven’t talked about it, so it’s not a thing.”

“But you two are–”

“Maybe,” Nate asks. “It’s in the works, alright?”

Alex shrugs. “Alright,” he says. “If you two are happy.”

Nate has to bite his lip to keep himself from saying _Yeah, I really am,_ or something equally sappy. “None of your beeswax, buddy. C’mon, I need breakfast.”

“Rude,” Alex says, but he laughs as he trails Nate into the kitchen.

* * *

The next time Nate sees Mikey, it’s in the locker room, and he’s shirtless, which is kind of unfair.

“Shit, Clouder,” Gibby says, “What’s with the mark?”

Nate’s eyes go to Mikey’s neck, but Mikey’s hand covers it before he gets a chance to see.

“None of your business,” Mikey says, but there’s a faint blush creeping up his chest.

“Don’t bother our captain, Gibby,” Nate says, and Mikey turns to him and gives him this huge fucking smile.

Nate drops his gear in the stall next to Mikey, and tries to be subtle when he checks him out.

“Hey,” Mikey says, his voice low.

“Hey yourself,” Nate says, grinning. “Should I apologize?”

“Nah,” Mikey says, and he’s still smiling, and they should probably stop, in case they’re being too obvious, but whatever. “I like it.”

“Me too,” Nate says, and Mikey turns red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -here is where we really see the most prominent references to _The Simple Life_.  
>  -next update thursday!


	5. Chapter 5

**(Mikey)**

Mikey seriously did _not_ expect to miss Nate this much.

Like, he’s dated people before, and usually when he goes away to play hockey, he can forget about missing them, because he’s… well, playing hockey. Except he can’t stop fucking thinking about Nate, even when they’re on the ice. Like, he seriously can’t; he keeps looking over his shoulder expecting Nate to be there, which is dumb, because Mikey’s been away from Nate plenty of times. He knows he can handle being away from Nate. It’s just… he’d prefer to be with Nate, like, all of the time.

That’s not a new feeling, and Mikey’s starting to think that the fact that it took them this long to begin to figure their shit out is incredibly stupid.

Like, Dylan and Connor levels of stupid. Or, what Mikey assumes is that level of stupid, because Dylan still won’t tell him.

“We’ve gotta stay focused on the tournament,” Dylan says to Mikey the third time he brings it up.

“That’s bullshit,” Mikey says, because they’re in Dylan’s hotel room in Tremblant watching cartoons. “We’re not staying focused on hockey right now.”

“Okay, but this is… head-clearing,” Dylan says.

“This is dumb TV, it’s not like we’re mediating,” Mikey says.

“Because meditating is boring,” Dylan says. “Same principle, though, because we don’t have to think.”

“Does McDavid meditate?” Mikey says. “He seems like the kind of guy who would meditate.”

“Maybe,” Dylan says, and Mikey can see the small, dumb, fond smile on his face.

“I bet you’d meditate with McDavid,” Mikey says.

“What are you even saying?” Dylan asks.

Mikey shrugs. “I wanna know what went down there.”

“If you make the roster, I’ll _maybe_ tell you, how’s that?” Dylan says, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, fine,” Mikey says.

“A little fuckin’ motivation, eh?” Dylan says.

“Nah, I’m already motivated,” Mikey says. “Just need a bit of luck.”

“Get your lucky charm out, then,” Dylan says, his focus turning back to the TV.

“Maybe I will,” Mikey says back, then takes out his phone and snaps a selfie, which he might retake a few times. If Dylan notices, he doesn’t chirp Mikey for it. Mikey captions it, _still have my jersey??_ and sends it to Nate.

Nate replies quickly, and Mikey opens the snap to find a picture of Nate in the jersey, and Mikey doesn’t even hesitate before screenshotting.

 _awww,_ Nate sends.

 _u look good in my jersey,_ Mikey sends back.

 _i’ll keep that in mind,_ Nate says, and Mikey’s face goes a little red.

 _u flirtin bro?_ Mikey asks.

 _never ;),_ Nate replies, and he doesn’t even use an emoji, he legitimately types a semicolon and a parenthesis, because he’s super lame, and Mikey is so fucking gone on him.

Dylan looks away from the TV, and his eyes go to Mikey’s wrist.

“Your guard is peeling,” Dylan says, and Mikey hasn’t thought about the guard in weeks, but when he looks down, he can see that an entire edge is lifted, now.

“Should order a backup,” Mikey says.

“Still not gonna look?” Dylan asks.

“Nope,” Mikey says.

Dylan gives him a weird look, but then he just shrugs. “Good call, honestly,” he says, and his voice is all distant, like he’s imparting some wisdom or something onto Mikey.

“You’re a weirdo,” Mikey says, and Dylan shoves him.

* * *

When Mikey makes the roster, Nate calls him “my man” on twitter, and Mikey doesn’t exactly swoon, but he also doesn’t stop smiling, so there’s that.

Well, Nate also tweets his mom, and his mom replies, and– okay, yeah, definite swooning.

Most people are polite about it, and Dylan’s too stressed out about wearing the C to notice that Mikey’s weirdly happy, but of course fucking Pierre-Luc Dubois says something about it.

“What’s up with you?” Duber says, giving Mikey a smile that Mikey thinks is supposed to be charming, but Mikey’s still ambivalent about Dubois, so he just finds it kind of irritating.

“Just, you know,” Mikey says, which is a really fucking terrible attempt at avoiding the question.

“Saw your boy’s tweet,” he says, so fucking casual that Mikey has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“He’s–” Mikey starts, but then he stops, because he doesn’t want to say that Nate isn’t his boy, especially not to Duber, so he settles on saying, “It was a nice thing for someone to say.”

Duber’s eyes go slightly wide, and when he speaks, his voice is low. “Wait, are you two actually–”

“It’s not– it’s whatever,” Mikey says. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Jeez, sorry,” Duber says, putting his hands up. “I’ve just– I’ve wondered. Since, like, the combine, or whatever.”

“The combine?” Mikey asks, before he can stop himself.

“It was like he couldn’t talk about anything else,” Duber says. “Literally, he talks about you, like, all the time. I just– y’know. Figured something was up.”

“Oh,” Mikey says, and he kind of blushes, and has to bite back a smile as he looks away.

“Sorry to pry,” Duber says.

“No, I’m– it’s fine. We’re… good,” Mikey says.

“Good,” Duber repeats, giving Mikey a knowing smile, and Mikey would be annoyed, because it’s not like they’re friends, really, but he’s thinking about Nate now, so he can’t actually muster up anything besides fondness.

“Just– it’s kind of– don’t, like, talk about it, okay? It’s sort of on the down-low, for now,” Mikey says, and Duber nods.

“Sure thing, man, my lips are sealed,” he says, and then, Taylor Raddysh walks up to them.

“Yo, dudes,” Taylor says.

“Hey,” Duber says.

“‘Sup with you guys?” Taylor asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, you know, just– happy,” Mikey says.

“Yeah, saw Bastian’s tweet,” Taylor says. “So are you two, like, a thing?”

Mikey groans. “Jesus christ,” he says, and next to him, Duber is laughing.

“What?” Taylor asks.

“It’s not–” Mikey sighs. “Maybe. Don’t tell anyone. Especially Stromer,” he adds.

“Trouble in ball hockey paradise?” Taylor says, raising an eyebrow.

“The trouble is Dylan,” Mikey says. “He’ll freak out, alright?”

“Alright,” Duber says.

Mikey’s phone buzzes, and he sees it’s a text from Nate; when he swipes it open, he sees a photo of himself. Like, taken within the past few minutes.

It’s a snap, he realizes, that Nate had screenshot from Duber, and it’s captioned, _ur boy._ Mikey’s smiling in it, and blushing too.

“Hey,” Mikey says, frowning as he holds up his phone to show Duber the picture. “What the fuck?”

“Just thought he’d appreciate it,” Duber says, defensively.

“Lemme see,” Taylor says, trying to peer over Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey ducks away, and his phone buzzes again, a text that says, _u look rlly good in this :),_ and Mikey smiles, despite himself.

“Aw,” Duber says, reading the text before Mikey can hide his screen from view. “That’s cute.”

“Are they flirting? I wanna see,” Taylor says, as Mikey tries to text with one hand while shielding his screen with the other, all while ducking away from Taylor.

“Who’s flirting with McLeod?” a voice says, and Mikey looks up to see that it’s Mitchell Stephens.

“Take a guess,” Taylor says, and Mikey glares at him.

“I hate all of you,” Mikey says. “Legitimately.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Mitch says.

“Fine, I hate all of you but Stephens,” Mikey says. “Just… be chill, please, and seriously, don’t tell Dylan.”

“He won’t,” Mitch says, nudging Taylor with his shoulder.

“I won’t,” Taylor repeats, and Mikey wants to ask what’s up there, but he doesn’t, just turns to Duber and looks at him expectantly.

“I won’t, promise,” Duber says.

Mikey gives them both a nod. “Good,” he says. He looks down at his phone at Nate’s text again, and feels the corners of his mouth turn up involuntarily.

 _#subtle #onpause,_ he sends back, and then after a second, follows it up with, _:)_

 _is it too much?_ Nate texts back.

 _nah,_ Mikey says. _duber and raddy asked tho._

 _what did u say,_ Nate asks. Mikey furrows his brow for a few moments, trying to figure out how much to tell Nate, but he apparently takes too long, because after a bit Nate texts _???,_ which means he’s freaking out.

 _not not a thing,_ Mikey says. _accurate?_

 _yah :)_ Nate says.

 _miss you,_ Mikey types out, but then he goes back and changes “you” to “u,” because he should maintain some semblance of chill.

 _wtf no, go play hockey michael, this is about CANADA,_ Nate says.

 _lol sry,_ Mikey says, and he’s grinning into his phone.

 _i worked 2 hard 2 get u onto that team michael,_ Nate says.

 _u worked hard???_ Mikey sends.

 _im ur good luck charm, remember?_ Nate says. _also sorry if the tweet was 2 much._

 _wasn’t,_ Mikey says, and then he adds a bunch of random-ass emojis, just because.

* * *

So, like, World Juniors is a pretty big deal, and once Mikey’s in the thick of it, it’s not as hard to fend off thoughts of Nate. Not that he’s ignoring him, per se, but he’s so caught up in the whirlwind of Canadian pride and brotherhood and _team,_ and the stakes are really fucking high.

Mikey is honestly impressed that Dylan’s managing an emotional crisis on top of it.

At first, Mikey thinks that it’s just Dylan being Dylan about captaincy, and the weight of expectations. Dylan locks himself in his room and thinks, and maybe cries, and according to Raddysh, who heard it from DeBrincat, this is… normal. Or, like, Dylan’s version of normal.

That’s what Mikey tells Chabot and Barzal when they ask, but Mikey starts to think this isn’t just normal levels of Strome-ness. The two of them get what Dylan’s going through, and maybe Dylan’s kind of a mess, but Barz and Chabby were around last year, and they’ve seen what a stressed-out Dylan looks like in the throes of World Juniors, and this is, apparently, much, much worse.

Duber also thinks something’s up, and Mikey doesn’t really think Duber knows Dylan that well, but they’re roommates, and Nate seems to trust Duber’s instincts on people, so Mikey concedes that he might have some insight.

They talk about it while Duber’s being Strome-ciled and Mikey’s being sexiled, or whatever it is that Stephens and Raddysh get up to when they kick Mikey out of his room.

“He’s on the phone, this time,” Duber says, reaching into the bag of chips that Mikey’s eating from.

“Seriously?” Mikey asks.

Duber nods. “Got all quiet when I walked in, so I grabbed my shit and walked out.” He pops the chips in his mouth.

“Jesus,” Mikey says.

“I mean, it can’t just be about hockey, right?” Duber says. “Is he having some sort of, like, personal crisis?”

Mikey snorts. “Probably like, 8.”

“What a dude,” Duber says. “Are all OHL boys like this?”

“Not all of us,” Mikey says, and Duber gives him a skeptical look.

“Who knows what’s up with Raddysh and Stephens, then Stromer is being weird, and you and Bastian?” Duber’s eyebrows remained raised.

Seriously, Mikey had _just_ started to like this kid. “We’re not like that,” he says, frowning.

“You text him all the time, don’t call him your boyfriend, and you have a soulmate,” Duber challenges.

Mikey blinks. “Are you– what are you saying?”

“I dunno,” Duber says, and he shrugs, but it’s pointed, somehow. “You should probably make sure you’re not hurting his feelings.”

Mikey has literally never, in his entire life, even thought about doing anything that would hurt Nate’s feelings. “Are you… giving me a shovel talk?” Mikey asks, unsure.

“Maybe,” Duber says, smiling a bit.

“Wow,” Mikey says. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“He’s my friend,” Duber says.

“He’s mine too,” Mikey says.

“Okay, but you could, like, legitimately break his heart,” Duber says. “Nylander can’t choose sides, but I know him better, so.”

“Alex knows?” Mikey asks.

“I’m pretty sure most people who know you guys guessed,” Duber says. “Or, they predicted it would happen at some point.”

Mikey thinks back to Ryan telling him that the team was placing bets on him and Nate being soulmates. “Fair enough.”

“So, you’re not gonna fuck him up?” Duber says. “I mean, if you do, I’ll beat you up, or whatever.”

Mikey shakes his head. “I won’t, promise. I’m, y’know, serious about this. Him.” He blushes a bit.

“Then– and like, I’m not trying to be rude, or whatever, but why are you guys all… y’know, vague?” He makes a weird hand gesture, which Mikey assumes is supposed to represent vagueness.

“I– trying to stay focused on the tournament,” Mikey says, frowning. “And I guess, um, I’m not there? And I don’t wanna… miss it, I guess.”

“The beginning part?” Duber asks.

Mikey nods, and puts his face in his hands. “This is dumb, sorry,” he says.

“No, it’s sweet,” Duber says, and Mikey can hear him laughing a bit. “Seriously, he’s crazy about you.”

“Yeah, well,” Mikey says, and hopes the _not as crazy as I am about him_ is implied

Duber pats him on the shoulder, and Mikey decides that Duber is an alright guy.

* * *

Later that night, Mikey calls Nate for the first time in a few days.

“Everything alright?” Nate asks, picking up the phone.

“Yeah, just missed the sound of your voice,” he says, and he closes his eyes and pictures the way Nate is probably smiling.

* * *

So it takes getting Dylan drunk on Christmas Eve to figure out what’s actually going on with him and McDavid.

“He thinks we’re soulmates,” Dylan says, his head on Mikey’s lap as he lies on the bed. Raddysh and Stephens aren’t kicking Mikey out of his room, which probably sucks for Stephens’ roommate, but whatever. Taylor and Mitchell are going to be playing together in the NHL next year, so on some level, Mikey thinks they’re being selfish, but then again, he would probably do the same thing if Nate were here.

“What, he got a soulmark and he thinks it’s you?” Mikey asks.

“It says my name,” Dylan says.

“Wait, what?” Mikey says. “Dude.”

“It could be a different Dylan,” he says. “It’s a common name.”

“But he thinks it’s you,” Mikey says.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a soulmark that says his name on it, so,” Dylan says.

“So what?” Mikey says.

“So, it’s all… complicated, and shit,” Dylan says. “He liked someone else, for a while.”

“You fucked Mitch Marner. While he was in your house,” Mikey says.

“He was mad at me for that,” Dylan says, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god,” Mikey says. “No, you can’t– stop it with this fucking, like, sad pining shit. You’ve been messed up over McDavid for ages, dude.”

“I have not,” Dylan says.

“You so fucking have,” Mikey says.

Dylan squeezes his eyes shut. “No, I just– he said that my name showed up on his wrist, and that he thought that meant we should be… you know. Together.”

“What’s the fucking problem, then?” Mikey asks, irritated.

“He doesn’t actually want to,” Dylan says, and, wow, he really sounds like he’s about to cry.

“Of course he does,” Mikey says. “Dyls, this is McDavid we’re talking about. Didn’t he fly all the way down to Erie to tell you?”

“Because he has too much fucking money,” Dylan says. “He can just fly wherever, it’s not a big deal to him. He doesn’t– it’s not that he actually likes me.”

“You sound ridiculous,” Mikey says, but he tries to make his voice gentle when he says it, because he does actually feel bad for Dylan.

“No, we– we talked about it, and then we hooked up, but we haven’t talked about anything besides fucking hockey since then.”

“Are you talking to him about the tournament?” Mikey says. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

“He won it, didn’t he?” Dylan asks, his voice kind of bitter.

“You’ve been kicking Duber out of your room to have secret strategy talks?” Mikey says. “Is that seriously what’s happening?”

“I’m not kicking him out of the room all the time,” Dylan says. “Sometimes he just leaves. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t– I know it’s, like, not good for the game if I’m too fucked up about this to focus.”

“Fuck the game, man, this is bad for you,” Mikey says. “Like, as a person. You should tell him that you’re feeling like this.”

“It’s not usually this bad. I mean, I still like talking to him and stuff. It’s just– I should feel on board with this, y’know? He thinks we’re soulmates.”

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Mikey says. “He doesn’t want that.”

“You do not have any way of knowing that,” Dylan says, and he’s laughing a bit, but there are also tears. The whole thing is really just a giant mess.

“You’re a disaster, man,” Mikey says. “Can you honestly say that he wants you to be upset? Like, ever?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Dylan says.

“Alright, well, there’s a start,” Mikey says. “So tell him that you’re, like, worried. He doesn’t want you to just go along with what he wants.”

Dylan turns and buries his face in Mikey’s leg, and then, with a muffled voice, says, “What if he does?”

“Then he’s objectively an asshole,” Mikey says emphatically. “And I will personally punch him in the face. After your brothers do, but before mine.”

“Aw,” Dylan says, lifting his face. “You’re a good friend.”

“I try my best,” Mikey says, and he runs a hand through Dylan’s hair. “Y’know that he probably just wants to talk to you and doesn’t know how, right?”

“What?”

“He probably just– I mean, you know him better than I do, but he knows how to talk hockey with you. Probably not as much the other stuff,” Mikey says. “It’s tricky.”

“No shit,” Dylan says.

“So you might– you know. You’ll have to bring it up.”

Dylan wrinkles his nose. “But I’m awful at that stuff.”

“Well, so is he,” Mikey says. “And he doesn’t know how to be bad at stuff.”

That earns a genuine laugh from Dylan. “You’re so fucking right,” he says. “I’m a fucking expert at being a fuckup.”

“You’re not a fuckup,” Mikey says. “Just… complicated. He’s used to things being simple.”

“I should call him,” Dylan says.

“Not right now,” Mikey says. “We’re drunk.”

“But I’m feel all motivated now,” Dylan says.

“Absolutely not,” Mikey says. “That is a bad idea. Write your feelings down or something, don’t drunk dial him.”

“You’re no fun,” Dylan grumbles.

Mikey only shrugs and smiles, then texts Duber that he should keep an eye on Dylan’s phone when Dylan goes back to his room. Duber responds with a thumbs up.

* * *

The next day, Mikey wakes up to a loud knocking on his door.

Taylor also wakes up to it, because he probably snuck back after Mikey went to bed, and they exchange a confused, hungover look before Raddysh gets out of bed and walks over to the door, rubbing his eye with one hand and fixing his hair with the other.

“Davo?” Raddysh says, which, what the _fuck._

“Raddy, man, what’s up,” a voice says, and Mikey climbs out of bed to see that Connor McDavid is literally standing at the door of his hotel room.

“Whoa,” Mikey says, out loud, because there’s a good chance that he’s actually just dreaming right now.

“Hey, McLeod,” Connor says.

“Come by to wish us luck?” Raddy says. “Didn’t need to wake us up for this.”

“Sorry, I– I didn’t mean to wake you up, just wanted to know where Stromer’s staying.”

“Across the hall, three doors down,” Taylor says.

Connor looks at Mikey, and Mikey glares in response, and he’s kind of surprised by it, but also, kind of proud.

“Hey, can I talk to McDavid for a second?” Mikey says. “If that’s alright.”

Taylor gives Mikey a look for a second, but probably realizes this is a Dylan thing, so he shrugs. “I’ll take a shower,” he says.

Mikey looks back at Connor, who looks mildly terrified now. “Cool,” he says, and Taylor gives McDavid one last hug before he wanders into the bathroom.

Mikey walks into the room and Connor follows, closing the door behind him as Mikey hears Tayor turn on the shower.

“What’s up?” Connor says, fidgeting nervously.

“Dylan,” Mikey says, crossing his arms.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “He’s–”

“Are you here to talk about hockey with him, or are you gonna actually talk to him?”

Connor just sort of freezes with his mouth half-open, his eyes darting between the floor and the ceiling as the rest of his face stays still. After a second, he says, “Not hockey, probably.”

Mikey nods. “Good call.”

“Is it– is he okay?”

“He’s playing fine,” Mikey says.

“I can go, if you think this is a bad idea,” Connor says. “I don’t wanna mess with things.”

“It’s not like that,” Mikey says. “I don’t– he’s just confused, I think. I mean, based on what he told me, _I’m_ confused.”

“I thought– I dunno, we didn’t say what we were going to do, exactly, but he just– I thought it would be something?” Connor looks down. “I don’t wanna bother him if he’s already worried.”

“He’ll worry no matter what,” Mikey says. “You really like him, right?”

“Of course,” Connor says.

“Would you like him even if–” Mikey holds up his own wrist. “You know.”

Connor laughs at that. “God, yes.”

“You should probably let him know about that, then,” Mikey says.

“Alright,” Connor says. “Alright.”

“It’ll be good,” Mikey says.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Connor says. “Um, thank you. Good luck, tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Mikey says. “Merry Christmas, also.”

“Oh! Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Connor says, then gives Mikey an awkward nod before walking very quickly out of the room.

Taylor’s still in the shower, and Mikey’s thinking, now, about Connor and Dylan, and then that has him thinking about Nate, because he’s never really not thinking about Nate. After a second, he pulls out his phone and calls him.

“Hey, dude,” Nate says. “I’m with my family, so I can’t really talk for that long.”

“Okay,” Mikey says. “Sorry, I should’ve figured.”

“Nah, you’re good. What’s up?”

Mikey purses his lips. “We’re, uh, really bad at being on pause.”

“What do you mean?” Nate says, his voice going soft.

“I mean, I just– I’ll tell you about all the dumb shit later, but everyone’s so… dumb?”

“That’s, uh, unfortunate?” Nate says, sounding confused.

“Half the team already knows that we’re, like, a thing, and I don’t know why I ever took life advice from Dylan fucking Strome, but like, I want to date you, I guess, and I don’t know why it makes a difference whether I say that now or after the tournament.”

“Oh,” Nate says. “That’s– okay.”

“Okay?” Mikey asks.

“I– that’s– there’s still stuff we should probably talk about, though,” Nate says, and he sounds a little shocked.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “But the thing is, it’s not– like, I like you more than any other person. And that’s been a thing for so fucking long, and, just, fuck putting things off, can I just call you my boyfriend?”

There’s silence on the other end, and then, “Oh, shit, sorry, I– yeah, yes, yep, that sounds good.”

Nate sounds so fucking happy that Mikey can’t help but smile, this huge thing that physically hurts, but Mikey doesn’t care. “Wow,” he says, and it feels different, even though nothing actually changes. Except maybe it does, kinda, because Mikey sure feels different.

“Can– can we FaceTime?” Nate asks.

“Thought you were with family,” Mikey says.

“Fuck it,” Nate says, and then Mikey’s phone rings with a FaceTime request.

When he opens it, Nate is smiling, big and dumb and dimpled, and even with the shitty iPhone camera and bad angle, it’s probably the best thing Mikey’s ever seen.

“Holy shit,” Mikey says.

“Bro,” Nate says, and then he frowns a little. “Wait, can I still call you bro?”

“Probably,” Mikey says.

“Sweet,” Nate says.

“You have a great smile,” Mikey blurts out. He feels dumb saying it, but then Nate smiles wider, and Mikey’s brain stops working enough for him to feel dumb.

“Oh, shit, we can say stuff like that now,” he says and he sounds giddy. “I have a backlog of compliments, man.”

“What, you keep a list?” Mikey laughs. He’s probably the happiest he’s been since Nate was drafted to New Jersey, and that’s saying something.

“Well, no, but off the top of my head? You’re super hot, I’m obsessed with the sound of your laugh, I’m pretty sure your abs belong on a poster, I want to touch your hair–”

“That one’s not even cute,” Mikey protests, but he’s still smiling.

“It so is! It’s all… fluffy,” Nate says.

“That’s not–” Mikey starts, but he’s cut off by a knocking sound from the bathroom.

“Hey, McLeod, is Davo gone?” Taylor yells, his voice muffled by the door.

“Yeah,” Mikey calls back.

“Davo?” Nate asks.

“I’ll explain later,” Mikey says, as Taylor walks out of the bathroom, a towel around his hips.

“Are you talking to someone?” Taylor asks.

“Hi,” Nate says, waving, even though he knows Mikey’s the only one who can see. “It’s Bastian.”

“Oh, were you two busy?” Taylor asks. “I can leave.”

“I should probably go,” Nate says. “Family and stuff.”

“Alright,” Mikey says, even though hanging up with Nate is the last thing he wants to do right now. “We’ll talk later?”

“For sure,” Nate says, grinning.

“Merry Christmas, Nate.”

“Merry Christmas, Mikey. Santa found his way to the rink?”

Mikey laughs. “Yeah, he got us a bunch of booze and Hockey Canada gear.”

“Man knows how to please his audience,” Nate says. “I’ll give you your gift when I see you.”

“Aw, you got me a gift?” Mikey says, and he’s joking, but his stomach does this dumb fluttering thing anyway.

“You’ll love it, super on-brand for us,” Nate says.

“I’m excited to see it,” Mikey says.

“Seriously, I can leave,” Taylor says, toweling his hair dry.

“No, I have to hang up,” Nate says.

“Okay,” Mikey says, and does a faux-pout thing.

“I really have to,” Nate says. “Otherwise my mom’s gonna be super passive aggressive.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Mikey says, but then he smiles. “Okay, go, bye.”

“Bye,” Nate says, flashing one last grin at the camera before hanging up.

Mikey locks his phone and puts it beside him, still smiling like an idiot.

“Let me know when he calls next time, so I can be, like, anywhere but here,” Taylor says.

“Sorry,” Mikey says.

“Weren’t you guys on the down low?” Taylor says, pulling on a pair of shorts. “What happened with that?”

Mikey shrugs. “Things change.”

“So you two are official?” Taylor asks. “Or are we still not telling the captain?”

“I’ll tell him later,” Mikey says.

“Right, when he’s in a good mood from the Davo thing,” Taylor says. “Whatever that is.”

“I think they’re gonna get their shit together,” Mikey says.

“Finally,” Taylor says. “That’s been a long time coming.”

“How long?”

Taylor shrugs. “Darren says pretty much the entire time they’ve known each other.”

“God,” Mikey says.

“I always said they’d work it out,” Taylor says. “No one’s that dumb.”

“Guess not,” Mikey says.

“They’re both so fucking weird,” Taylor says, laughing a bit, like there’s some joke he’s referencing that Mikey doesn’t get. “Good at hockey, though.”

“Honestly, thank god,” Mikey says.

* * *

Around noon, it hits Mikey that they’re playing Russia tomorrow.

He’s probably not as stressed as he should be, because Dylan is weirdly zen about it– still focused, because he’s a hockey player, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry anymore.

Duber’s filling Mikey in on the details of McDavid’s arrival– which, apparently, involved a five minute hug– when Barzal comes up to them and says, “Did Strome go to yoga this morning, or did someone slip him a Prozac, or what?”

“Neither?” Duber says. “Or, I can only speak for myself.”

“Pretty sure he’s just in a good mood,” Mikey confirms.

“Good thing,” Barzal says. “I expected him to be, like, puking out his Russia feelings.”

Which– right. Russia.

Mikey’s also in a little bit of a good mood bubble, so his stomach doesn’t exactly sink, but it’s just– this is the tournament he and Dylan watched on TV when they were younger, and it’s probably the only international tournament that people watch. And he might not be playing on anyone's line, but he’ll be there.

Jesus, and Dylan was there last year, when they fucked up, and now he’s their captain, and Mikey isn’t used to looking up to guys a year older than him, but honestly, the fact that Stephens is currently smiling and batting his eyelashes at Taylor and not just fainting out of sheer terror is kind of blowing Mikey’s mind.

He sends Nate a text that says, _just remembered 2 freak out,_ and then quickly adds, _about world jrs,_ because Nate’s probably the thing he’s freaking out about the least.

Nate doesn’t respond, which means he’s probably not near his phone, so Mikey pockets it and tries to continue to not freak out about Nate.

* * *

Connor McDavid shows up at their tape review session, which is a momentary distraction, but he’s all business, until the Hockey Canada guys leave, at which point Connor immediately goes to sit on the ground in front of Dylan’s chair, right between his legs. He’s supposed to be answering their questions, or something, but he just smiles kindly and tells them it’s all going to be okay as Dylan squeezes his shoulder.

It’s kind of cute.

* * *

 _hey sorry phone died,_ Nate texts, a few hours later, while Mikey’s stretching on his bed and chirping some of Dylan’s friends from ball hockey on Insta. Currently, his legs are above his head, because it’s good for his lower back and also strangely relaxing.

 _ur good,_ Mikey replies.

 _russia will be destroyed,_ Nate sends back, then follows it up with a bunch of Russian flag emojis, red x’s, and hockey sticks.

Mikey smiles despite himself. _haha thx,_ he says. _i prolly wont even play._

 _not with THAT ATTITUDE,_ Nate responds, then sends a picture of himself making a grumpy face.

 _u look like an angry teddy bear,_ Mikey says.

 _so mean ,_ Nate says.

Mikey spends a minute deciding whether to send a heart eyes emoji or a kissing one, and ends up sending both. Then, on a whim, he decides to send Nate a selfie, figuring that his current display of flexibility will probably work in his favor.

Sure enough, Nate responds with an all-caps, _JESUS, WARN A GUY_

Mikey puts his feet back in a normal position, and laughs out loud when he reads Nate’s response. _merry christmas?_

 _ur lucky we didn’t go to mass,_ Nate’s text reads. _i would legit go str8 2 hell if i was in church and got that._

 _good thing we were drafted by………… the devils,_ Mikey says, and he’s pretty sure it’s a stroke of genius.

 _you’re the worst, the literal, actual worst,_ Nate sends.

 _nah, ur into me,_ Mikey sends back. He’s thinking about the night they kissed, now, and he doesn’t have time to jerk off, but he’s kind of turned on, so he sends, _u can fuck me like this if u want._

It takes Nate a second to respond, but when he does, he says, _as soon as i can, i will._

It sounds like a promise, and Mikey shivers, a little. _i have to go in a second._

 _alright,_ Nate sends. _im gonna take a very long, very hot shower and think about that picture the entire time._

Mikey’s face goes hot, and he bites his lip to hold back a whimper. _wish i could join you,_ he says.

Nate sends a kissy face in response.

* * *

Mikey knocks on Dylan’s door, and when Dylan opens it, Mikey says, “Hey, uh, I’m dating Nate.”

“Okay,” Dylan says, giving Mikey a long look. “Alright. That’s– is everything good?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says.

“Cool,” Dylan says. “I talked to Connor earlier.”

“I know,” Mikey says. “I saw him.”

“We’re, uh–”

“Together?”

Dylan nods.

“That’s– congratulations.”

“You too,” Dylan says. “I’m really happy for you.” His face is completely blank.

“I’m really happy for you, too,” Mikey says. “And for me? But I’m still–”

“Freaking out about tomorrow?” Dylan asks.

Mikey nods. “A lot.”

“Yeah, join the club,” Dylan says, and his face relaxes into a sympathetic smile.

They chill for the rest of the night in Dylan’s room, with various guys coming and going with questions and concerns, and at some point, Mikey realizes that Dylan’s a really, really good captain.

When Mikey tells him as much, Dylan just chuckles and says, “Let’s hope so, eh?”

* * *

The next morning, Mikey gets four different pictures from various Steelheads of Nate wearing his jersey.

 _you’ll kill it,_ Nate texts him.

 _good luck charm,_ Mikey sends back, and then adds a bunch of maple leaf emojis.

He locks his phone, looks around the locker room, and takes a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -this is the chapter of side pairings and also the World Juniors chapter (stephens/t.raddy in this 'verse is something i sure as heck have lots of feelings about!)   
> -updating tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day


	6. Chapter 6

**(Nate)**

Nate is more prepared for Mikey to be too busy for him than Mikey is.

Mikey tries for a while, and it’s sweet, but he has to play at World Juniors, for fuck’s sake, and that’s a lot.

They text, and kinda sext, and that works well for Nate. Team cohesion shit is important, Nate knows that, so really, he’s happy that Mikey isn’t scrambling to set time aside to talk to him when he has a bajillion other things to worry about.

Or, maybe he wouldn’t be so happy about it if it weren’t for the–

Well.

The soulmate thing.

Not Mikey’s soulmate thing, because Nate figures Mikey knows what he’s doing, and he seems hell bent on letting Nate know how serious he is, which is very sweet, even if Nate suspects third party intervention (PL. He suspects PL, because he’s had opinions about Mikey and Nate’s whole deal since the combine, and has not shut up about them.) But yeah, this time it’s Nate with a soulmate, which is either really good or really bad, depending on when you ask him about it.

He didn’t see the name at all, and he got a wristguard, eventually, after spending half his Christmas driving around, trying to find a store that was both open and had them in stock.

* * *

Of course Nate wears Mikey’s jersey when Canada plays, but the really dumb part of it all is that he wears other clothing of Mikey’s every time he’s not wearing the jersey, various t-shirts he’s acquired over the years, plus a hat, a sweatshirt, and a pair of socks that are indistinguishable from his, except they have a weird ketchup stain that spans both feet.

* * *

(Oh my gosh, he has a _soulmate._ )

* * *

He doesn’t tell his parents yet, because he doesn’t know if he should tell them about that first, or about Mikey. He also doesn’t know if he should tell Mikey first, or tell Mikey at all, because they’re in that sweet “we just started dating and every time I think of you, I smile” spot, and Nate doesn’t really want to fuck that up with soulmate stuff, especially because they’re probably gonna talk about Mikey’s soulmate stuff anyway, so he figures he can bring it up when they can actually deal with it.

* * *

The thing is, Mikey’s so fucking _good._

He barely plays against the Russians, but they put him in against Slovakia, and Nate doesn’t even see Cirelli’s feed, because all he can focus on is Mikey– wearing a number that looks wrong on him, but whatever– rushing to the net, so fucking fast, and it’s fucking magical, the way this kid skates.

And Nate has a soulmate.

Then, Stephens is still injured for Latvia, so Mikey gets to play an actual game while Nate’s there, in the rink. He gets a goal, and Nate has to stop himself from jumping on the ice to tackle him into a hug.

_I fucking love him,_ Nate thinks, as Mikey skates toward the bench, and then he looks down at his wrist, because it’s hard not to wonder.

Mikey kisses him after the game, right outside the locker room, before Nate even has a chance to congratulate him.

“Hey,” Mikey says, breathlessly, into Nate’s mouth.

“Hey yourself,” Nate says, a little dizzy. “You guys played alright.”

“Yeah?” Mikey says, grinning, and it’s the most beautiful thing Nate’s ever seen. He pulls back a little bit, but he leaves his hands on Nate’s shoulders, which Nate is super into.

“I think you did Canada proud,” Nate says truthfully.

“That was the goal,” Mikey says, and Nate’s about to respond when Raddysh walks out of the room and high fives Mikey.

“Hey, man, fuckin’ awesome,” Nate says, pulling Raddysh in for a hug.

“Thanks,” Raddysh laughs. “Glad you could make it.”

“Duh,” Nate says.

They chat for a bit, and Mikey’s touching Nate the entire time, which is pretty awesome. After a bit, Taylor leaves to talk to other people, and it’s just Nate and Mikey again, for a few minutes.

“I–” Nate did have something to say, but he’s momentarily distracted by Mikey’s eyes.

“You?” Mikey prompts, and god, that _smile._

“Your Christmas gift,” Nate says.

“Oh yeah?” Mikey says, his smile shifting into some one-sided smirk that Nate desperately wants to kiss.

“You’ve gotta stop–” Nate says, and then he leans in and actually does kiss Mikey, because he can do that now.

“Nice gift,” Mikey says.

Nate might hear someone snicker, but he doesn’t bother to check. “That wasn’t it.”

“Wow, you’re really spoiling me here,” Mikey says, faux-flirtatious in a way that shouldn’t actually be charming to Nate, but is anyway.

“Fuck you,” Nate says. “Okay, so the first part is that I bought the first season of The Simple Life on DVD, but I figured that wouldn’t be super useful for you right now, so I brought you a card as an IOU.”

“Just a card?” Mikey says. Nate sticks his tongue out at him, then gets his wallet out of his pocket, and pulls it out.

“Here,” he says. “I, uh, wrote it on the back.”

He hands Mikey the card, which is a wallet-sized picture of the two of them on Nate’s draft day. Mikey flips it over, and Nate anxiously taps his fingers as he watches Mikey read the note he wrote, which says, _We’ve always been better together. I’m really lucky to have you as my other half. #sorrynotsorry if this is too sappy. Sorry for real if it’s not sappy enough. Love, N8._

“I like the drawing,” Mikey says, his voice kind of shaky. He doesn’t look up, but Nate can see he’s smiling, this time small and bright.

“I think it’s my best work,” Nate says, his tone not quite as joking as his words. “It takes a real creative type to put devil ears on a smiley face.”

“You sure are something special,” Mikey says. His eyes meet Nate’s, and Nate can see that they’re shiny. “We– this is a nice picture. You had it printed out?”

“Yeah, had to go to a photo store and everything,” Nate says.

“We look so happy,” Mikey says. “Who took it?”

“My mom,” Nate says.

“I– sorry, fuck, this is really, really cute,” Mikey says, and then pulls Nate in for a tight hug, like the one in the picture.

“Going for a reenactment?” Nate whispers in Mikey’s ear.

“Shut up,” Mikey says. “Haven’t gotten to hug you in weeks.”

“Missed me that much, eh?”

“Like you didn’t.”

Nate laughs, and he feels Mikey laugh too. “Fair enough,” he says.

They keep hugging for a little while, and break apart when the locker room door opens again.

Nate congratulates the guys from the team, and chats with the ones he knows well, and eventually the other Steelheads want to congratulate Mikey too, but the entire time, Mikey holds Nate’s hand.

When Nate has to go, Mikey kisses him goodbye, which turns into them kinda making out in front of many of their friends, who are currently politely ignoring them, and Nate would have the decency to be embarrassed about it, except this is Michael McLeod.

“Sorry I can’t be at every game,” Nate says.

“Sorry you’re the one who’s gonna get chirped for this,” Mikey replies. “I’ll miss you, though.”

“You’re gonna be awesome,” Nate says.

“Your gift is coming after the tournament, by the way,” Mikey says. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Win a gold medal for me,” Nate says, and Mikey gets this determined look on his face at that. Nate can’t decide whether he wants to laugh at it or kiss it, so he kind of does both.

* * *

Nate has a soulmate, and it either is or is not Mikey, and it’s about to be 2017, and Canada is losing to the US.

He’s not wearing Mikey’s socks, which he’s worn for every other game, so he assumes it’s his fault. Sweden wins, so Nate sends Alex a bunch of emojis, but Nate’s pissed on behalf of Mikey, and on behalf of Canada.

_ill fight the entire united states of america,_ Nate says.

Mikey sends back a few sad face emojis.

Later, Nate’s drunk at a New Year’s party with his team, and he ducks out to call Mikey a few minutes before the new year, fully expecting him not to pick up.

“Naterrrr,” Mikey slurs, after two rings. “You called.”

“You answered,” Nate says.

“‘m drunk,” Mikey says. “We lost, but at least it’s a new year, right?”

“Good attitude,” Nate says, and Mikey giggles on the other end.

“Wish I could kiss you,” Mikey says.

“You too,” Nate says.

There’s some rustling on the other end, and Nate hears an indistinct voice say something, and then Mikey says something back. “Sorry,” Mikey says. “Dylan wants to call McDavid.”

“Aw,” Nate says.

“I’m glad they worked out,” Mikey says. “Dylan was being dumb.”

“People do that,” Nate says. “Not us, though.”

“We were a little dumb,” Mikey says.

“We got there eventually,” Nate says. “It was worth it.”

“Oh, yeah, a hundred percent,” Mikey says.

The Steelheads start counting down, so Nate walks out into the party on the phone with Mikey.

“I’m gonna go rejoin our boys,” Nate says. “Stay on the line?”

“Duh,” Mikey says, and he probably does the same, but Nate can’t really tell, because everything is very, very loud all of a sudden.

They ring in 2017 with a lot of cheering and hugging, and several people grab Nate’s phone to say hi to Mikey, who’s probably barely listening.

A few minutes later, when everyone’s died down, Nate gets his phone back and says, “You there?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “Happy New Year, Nate.”

“Happy New Year, Mikey,” Nate says. “Glad we’ll get to spend it together.”

“We will,” Mikey says. “I’m excited to be your boyfriend, like, in person.”

“You too,” Nate says. “Get back to your team.”

“Get back to our team,” Mikey says.

They say their goodbyes, and Nate flops down on a couch next to Gibby.

“I miss my boyfriend,” he says.

“Who, McLeod?” Gibby says. “No shit, you always miss him.”

“But now he’s my boyfriend and I miss him,” Nate says.

“You were on the phone with him seconds ago,” Gibby says.

“It’s not the same,” Nate says. “I wish he was here.”

“No, because then you’d be making out, and his little brother is here, and that would be weird for him.”

“We wouldn’t make out in front of Ryan,” Nate says.

Ryan, only a few feet away, turns around and looks at them. “Are you guys talking about me?”

“Yeah, Nater wants to mack on your brother,” Gibby says, and Nate punches him in the arm as Ryan crinkles his nose.

“I wasn’t saying that,” Nate says.

“He implied it,” Gibby says.

“I literally didn’t,” Nate says.

“Please don’t make this weird for me,” Ryan says.

“I was just saying I miss him,” Nate says. “That’s all.” He elbows Gibby hard, for good measure.

“Alright,” Ryan says. “You guys are legit, right?”

“Yeah,” Nate says. “All in, one hundred percent.”

“Good,” Ryan says with a nod.

“Aw, no shovel talk?” Gibby says, laughing a bit.

“Dude,” Nate says to Gibby, because honestly, he really wants Ryan on board with this whole him-and-Mikey thing. He’s a good kid, obviously, and he’s the only person on the team who cares about Mikey as much as Nate does.

“Nah,” Ryan says. “Nater knows he’s dead meat if he messes up Mikey.”

“Judi would get to me first,” Nate says, and then he adds, “I’d deserve it, too.”

“Yep,” Ryan says, apparently pleased with Nate’s answer.

“What would even happen if you guys broke up?” Gibby asks. “With you guys being on the same team.”

“Glad to see you have such faith in my week-old relationship,” Nate says.

“Not that you will,” Gibby says. “Just, like, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Well, if that happens, we’ll deal,” Nate says. “I dunno, I’d probably cry, quit hockey, marry rich, and pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a socialite.”

“Nice backup,” Ryan says.

“Eh, it’s alright,” Nate says. “I’d rather stay with him–” _forever,_ his mind supplies, but out loud, he says, “–for the foreseeable future.”

“Good call,” Ryan says.

“He’s just, like, the best?” Nate blurts out. “Like, I just– god, he’s so great.”

“Poetic,” Gibby says.

“Whatever, I’m super into him, I get a few weeks of being ridiculous about this,” Nate says. “Maybe a few months, possibly years. I don’t know. He’s really great.”

“I didn’t think you two could get more ridiculous,” Gibby says.

“They can,” Ryan says. “Trust me.”

“You haven’t even heard me talk about his smile,” Nate says. “Oh man–”

“Stop,” Gibby and Ryan say at the same time.

Nate just shrugs, grinning.

* * *

Mikey is really good at taking pictures of himself. Like, sexy pictures.

They’d be douchey if they were anyone else, but they’re him, so Nate is really just… super into them. His current thing is taking pictures before and after every shower, with or without a towel, and Nate loves it. He’s not as much of a visual sexter himself, but he’s better at dirty talk, so he thinks they balance it out pretty well.

Mikey also takes a lot of normal selfies, snaps of his day and the occasional glamour shot, when he’s feeling particularly good about his hair or the lighting is really good.

Nate saves every damn one of them. Of course he does.

He sends Mikey selfies in Mikey’s clothes, and Mikey seems really, really into those.

* * *

Nate doesn’t want to rush something big and important, like figuring out if Mikey is his soulmate and if he even wants to know if Mikey is his soulmate, but he feels like he should have something conclusive to say to Mikey besides, “I have a soulmate, so, yeah, you can take it from here.”

The thing is, Nate’s been Mikey’s for years, but they still just started dating. Theoretically, it shouldn’t be different, except it is. Nate’s still getting used to saying the word “boyfriend,” and he’s thinking about sex with Mikey in a very real way. Not that he hasn’t thought about sex with Mikey before, but now it’s like, real, he’s _going to have sex with Mikey._

Which is awesome, but also– it’s different.

Plus, Nate has a soulmate.

It’s really complicated, and he’d usually try to get advice from Mikey on this sort of thing, but this is about Mikey. He can’t really ask any of the guys on the team, because he should probably explain Mikey’s whole soulmate deal, and he doesn’t want to make them feel weird about it. What Nate really needs is, like, some Dear Abby shit, except he doesn’t know how to explain the whole Nate-and-Mikey show to someone who hasn’t been there watching it for the past three years.

So he goes with the next best option, which really isn’t that great of an option at all, and… calls Dylan Strome?

It’s maybe a low point.

“Hello?” Dylan says on the other end, sounding very confused.

“Hi, it’s, uh, Bastian,” Nate says.

“I figured,” Dylan says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s good, I just… uh, Mikey,” he says dumbly. “McLeod.”

“Yes,” Dylan says. “What about him?”

“Well, uh, we just sort of– we just started, like, dating, right? And things have been going good, he’s great, he’s not here right now but whatever, he’s handling it, I’m handling it–”

“Are you gonna break up with him?” Dylan asks. “Because, like if you are, you really shouldn’t be calling me about this.”

“No! No, that’s– that doesn’t even make sense,” Nate says. “Not sure it’s possible.”

“Alright,” Dylan says. “Then why are you–”

“I have a soulmark, and I didn’t see the name,” Nate blurts out.

“Oh,” Dylan says, and he sounds taken aback. “Um, okay.”

“You know what? I shouldn’t have called, this was dumb,” Nate says, his face burning. “Sorry to–”

“No, it’s cool, yeah,” Dylan says. “I mean, I get– yeah.”

“Alright,” Nate says.

“So, what are you– I mean, do you think it’s him?” Dylan asks.

“I mean, I– it could be,” Nate says.

“Do you want it to be?” Dylan asks.

“Of course,” Nate says. “Or, I mean, I– is it too early to say that? Whatever, I do, yeah.”

“Alright,” Dylan says. “So, uh, that’s good to know. I mean, you should tell him that, but–”

“Not right now?” Nate says.

“Probably not,” Dylan says. “I mean, I know– I think it’ll be fine? But soulmate stuff is… tricky.”

“Don’t I know it,” Nate says.

“I think he wants it to be you, though,” Dylan says.

“You do?” Nate says, kind of taken aback by how simply Dylan says it.

“I mean, yeah,” Dylan says. “He’s… okay, well, don’t tell him I told you this, but I think he’s always wanted it to be you.”

“Always.” Nate’s mouth is kinda dry.

“I mean, since it first came in. He– he checked that it wasn’t… not you,” Dylan says.

“What does that mean?” Nate asks.

“The first letter,” Dylan says. “He knows it. Did he tell you that?”

“He told me he didn’t know anything,” Nate says. “We didn’t really talk about it that much.”

“Okay, well, that– don’t be mad at him for not telling you, alright?” Dylan says.

“I’m not mad, I’m just– what is it?” Nate asks, his heart pounding.

“What’s what?” Dylan says.

“The letter,” Nate says. “What’s the letter.”

“I mean, N?” Dylan says, like that should be obvious, somehow.

“That’s– that’s the first letter of my name,” Nate says, dumbly.

“Oh, god, I shouldn’t have– just, I dunno, don’t tell him I told you this, but you and Mike are good together, and I think that soulmate shit will, like, work itself out,” Dylan says. “Sorry, fuck.”

“No, it’s good, sorry, I– that's kind of a lot, is all. Should I– I mean, I shouldn’t check, right?”

Dylan’s quiet on the other end for a second. “You… it’s your business. You can do what you want, but if you want to wait for him, that’s– that makes sense.”

“Okay,” Nate says. “Alright, uh, thanks.”

“No problem,” Dylan says. Awkwardly, he adds, “I hope it all works out.”

“Same here, buddy,” Nate says. “Good luck against Sweden.”

“Ha, thanks,” Dylan says.

“So long,” Nate says.

“See you,” Dylan says.

Nate stares blankly at the wall for five minutes after he hangs up with Dylan, and then thinks, _Mikey wants me to be his soulmate._

Mikey might be his, forever, and Nate could know that right now, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t check, though, just sends Mikey a text telling him to destroy Alex tomorrow.

Mikey sends a dumb snap in response, and Nate thinks that he should probably tell Mikey he loves him sometime soon as he dutifully screenshots it.

* * *

They get second, which is better than last year, but they lose to the US, in a shootout, and Nate’s just– confused, for a second, when it happens.

He wasn’t there, but this team seemed like something special, and his heart breaks for all of them, anyway.

Mikey doesn’t respond to his texts, which is fine, but he sends Nate a bunch of drunk snaps, and then posts an insta that Nate’s pretty sure was meant for his finsta, but he gives it a like anyway.

* * *

Nate’s not sure what he expected to happen when he next saw Mikey.

Tournaments can be weird, especially when they don’t end well, and Nate half expects Mikey to still be moping the next time they see each other, but when Mikey answers the door to the McLeod house, Nate’s greeted with the that same dazzling Mikey McLeod smile.

So, like, Nate knows that there are words he knows how to say, words he should probably be saying, but instead of trying to figure out what they are, he just kisses him, because Mikey’s right there for the first time in weeks, and Nate wants to.

It escalates, like, really fucking fast from there. They’re still in the doorway, and probably letting the cold in, but stepping inside would probably mean he’d have to stop making out with Mikey, and there’s no way he’s gonna do that until he has to.

“Oh my god,” Ryan’s voice says.

Mikey pulls away, and Nate can see Ryan making a face at them.

“Sorry,” Nate says, his face turning very red, very fast.

Ryan just sighs, turns around, and walks down the hall.

“Uh,” Mikey says, turning back to Nate. “Hey.”

“You’re back,” Nate says.

“I’m back,” Mikey confirms. “We lost.”

“You got silver,” Nate corrects, taking off his coat.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna think about it,” Mikey says, shrugging. “I mean, it’s over, so now–”

“You’re focusing on the rest of our season in Sauga?” Nate suggests.

“Sure, that,” Mikey says. “We should go to my bedroom.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nate says, and they head up the stairs.

As soon as they’re in Mikey’s room, Mikey literally grabs Nate’s collar and pulls him into a kiss.

“We have, like, an hour until dinner,” Mikey says, between kisses. “We could–”

“Isn’t your entire family home?” Nate says.

“We can be quiet,” Mikey says. “Please?” He gives Nate this look that’s, like, a pleading smirk,which doesn’t even make sense, and Nate’s honestly a little embarrassed that it gets to him, because it’s ridiculous and definitely super fake.

“Depends on what you’re asking,” Nate says, and Mikey’s still doing a kind-of smirk, but he’s also blushing,

“Well, I was thinking,” Mikey says, and then he looks up, like he’s trying to choose the right words. “I want to go down on you.”

Nate wants to play it cool, he really does, but his face definitely turns bright red and he starts nodding so fast he’s afraid he’s gonna, like, injure himself. “Yeah, yep, that sounds like a good idea, I’m in, good call.”

“Cool,” Mikey says, and then he kisses Nate again, this time walking them over to the bed and palming Nate through his jeans. Nate moans at the touch, and Mikey smiles against Nate’s mouth.

“God, that noise,” Mikey says, his mouth right next to Nate’s ear.

“You like it?” Nate says, trying to sound, like, mildly composed.

“I like _you,_ ” Mikey says, and then he pushes Nate onto the bed and straddles him, and then, because he’s apparently just trying to kill Nate at this point, grinds his hips down.

“Jesus fucking _fuck,_ ” Nate says.

“Feel good?” Mikey asks, which is probably rhetorical, considering Nate’s definitely hard right now, and Mikey’s close enough that he can probably feel it.

“What do you think?” Nate says. It comes out breathier than he expects it to, but whatever, Mikey’s pretty much giving him a lap dance at this point, Nate’s allowed to sound too into him. “You should really get your mouth on my dick, like, now.”

“So impatient,” Mikey says, but then Nate looks up at him, and Mikey blushes, which is awesome.

“Please?” Nate says, smiling, and watches with fascination as Mikey’s face turns even redder.

“Jesus,” Mikey says, but he climbs off of Nate’s lap and gets on his knees, then unbuttons Nate’s pants, and then–

Holy _shit,_ Mikey is actually sucking his dick, and Nate has literally never felt anything this good in his entire fucking life.

“Fuck, Mike,” Nate says, except it comes out as more of a gasp. “You’re–”

Mikey looks up at Nate, his pupils wide and his face red and his lips around Nate’s dick, and it’s so fucking beautiful.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Nate says, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut.

Mikey smiles, somehow, even though Nate’s dick is still in his mouth, then takes Nate even deeper.

Nate has to bite back a hiss, and then Mikey gets, like, a rhythm going, and it’s just so, so good, the way his mouth is warm and wet, the way he just fucking goes for it, with this focused intensity that drives Nate wild. His eyes are doing this half-lidded thing, and it’s definitely a good blowjob, like, objectively, but the fact that it’s Mikey makes it absolutely _unreal_.

He reaches out and runs his hand through Mikey’s hair, not tugging at it or anything, just feeling it, taking in that this is happening, that Mikey is here, making him feel this incredible, making him–

“Fuck,” Nate says. “I’m gonna come.”

Mikey, of course, swallows, because he’s a champion.

It’s a few seconds before Nate can speak.

“Sorry,” he says.

Mikey wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand– which, oh _god_ – then cocks his head to one side. “Sorry?”

“That– uh, ended pretty fast,” Nate says.

Mikey just shrugs, and Nate can see that he has this dumb, happy smile on his face. “No worries,” he says.

“Here, you shoud– c’mere,” Nate says, and he hauls Mikey up for a kiss. He can kind of taste himself, which is a little gross, but also really, really awesome.

“It was good?” Mikey says, smiling, and his face is so close to Nate’s.

“Holy fuck, _yes,_ ” Nate says. “You’re really good at that. Like, seriously. Do they give out awards for blowjobs? Because you deserve, like, five.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mikey says.

“If I’m ridiculous, and you sucked my dick, what does that make you?” Nate asks.

“Lucky,” Mikey says simply, and then Nate has to kiss him again, because that was way too fucking smooth.

Mikey sort of tackles him to the bed, and then he’s sort of surrounding Nate, and Nate thinks Mikey is wearing far too much clothing, so he unthinkingly tugs at the hem of Mikey’s shirt. Mikey gets the message and pulls it over his head.

“Nice,” Nate says, goofy and satisfied, and, yeah, they share a locker room, but Nate’s never gotten to appreciate Mikey like this in the flesh.

Mikey smiles, his face red and happy. “Your turn,” he says, and Nate’s eyes flicker down to Mikey’s left wrist for a second.

“Uh,” Nate says.

Mikey furrows his brow. “What’s up, dude?”

“I– okay, just, we don’t have to talk about it, but there’s– just, like, fair warning–” Nate sighs, and then pulls up his left sleeve, revealing the wristguard.

Mikey stares at it for a bit, and Nate tries to gauge his reaction from his face, but it's frustratingly blank. After a few seconds where Nate’s heart might actually beat out of his chest, Mikey just says, “Oh.”

“I didn’t see,” Nate says carefully.

Mikey nods. “Alright.”

“I mean– it doesn’t change anything, right this second, I just– I figured I should tell you?”

“No, yeah, that makes sense,” Mikey says, and then he furrows his brow, just a little. “We should, uh, talk about it.”

“Like, right now?” Nate says.

“Oh, god, no,” Mikey says, shaking his head. “Later. Right now, I wanna–”

“Okay, good,” Nate says, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and just like that, they're back on track. Mikey's kissing him, then helping him pull his shirt over his head, and then Nate’s… naked.

Which has happened more times than he can count, obviously, but this is so clearly, drastically different, because Mikey is _looking_ at him.

“Wow,” Mikey says appreciatively, and then he leans down to kiss Nate, except he’s still wearing jeans, which doesn’t seem fair.

“Take these off,” Nate whispers in Mikey’s ear, and Mikey gets up and removes them– not, like, sexily, because it’s impossible to take jeans off sexily, but Mikey gets pretty damn close, and doesn’t even trip over them or anything.

“You should get tearaway pants,” Nate says, as Mikey walks back to the bed.

Mikey puts a leg on either side of Nate’s hips and says, “Buy ‘em for me.”

“Your birthday’s coming up,” Nate says, and then they’re making out again.

Mikey’s hard, and honestly, it’s more than Nate ever thought it could be, which is super dramatic, but also, Nate thinks, completely reasonable. They’re a tangled mess of limbs and naked bodies and smiles, and it’s everything Nate has ever wanted to share with another person, and he’s sharing it with his _favorite_ person.

They roll over so Nate’s on top, and Nate brings a hand to Mikey’s dick, which is leaking, and Mikey makes this moaning noise as his dick twitches in Nate’s hand.

Mikey’s turned on. He’s turned on because of _Nate._ Mikey is currently underneath Nate, squeezing his eyes shut and thrusting his hips up into Nate’s grip, because he wants Nate.

Nate jerks Mikey off, and just watches Mikey react to the touch, listens to every groan, every gasp, every cut off curse that escapes his lips.

“Nate,” Mikey says, and his eyes are closed, and god, he’s so– so _into_ this, which shouldn’t be a surprise, but it’s really fucking amazing, anyway. Mikey’s said Nate’s name so many times before, but never like that, never in that breathless, wanting way, and it occurs to Nate that this is _happening,_ and it will probably happen again, and it will only get better from here. He didn’t think it was possible for anything about him and Mikey to get better, but it will, somehow, and fuck, he’s so fucking lucky.

“Shit, Mikey,” Nate says.

Mikey’s eyes squeeze shut, and he tenses up and says, “Fuck, Nate, I’m–”

And then he comes all over Nate’s hand.

“Whoops,” Mikey says, except it’s kind of a whisper.

“S’all good,” Nate says, and he’s probably smiling like an idiot and looking at Mikey way too fondly, except Mikey’s giving him a look that comes close to matching how Nate feels.

“That was _awesome,_ ” Mikey laughs, beautiful as always.

“I know, right?” Nate says.

“Shit, man, you gotta cuddle me,” Mikey says, and Nate is happy to oblige.

They get a good ten minutes of alternating between spooning and making out, but then Mikey’s phone rings, so he reaches over Nate to answer it. He frowns when he looks at the screen, but he answers anyway.

“Hello?” Mikey says, his brow furrowed.

Nate can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying, but Mikey rolls his eyes at whoever it is. “Oh my god, you’re so–” the other person cuts him off, apparently, and then Mikey kind of blushes, and then he says, “Okay, whatever, see you in a few,” and hangs up.

“What was that about?” Nate asks.

“Ryan was calling to let me know dinner’s in ten,” he says.

“Isn’t Ryan… here?” Nate asks.

“Yeah, he’s, uh, avoiding coming upstairs,” Mikey says.

Nate considers that, for a second. “That’s… nice of him?”

“I guess,” Mikey says.

“So we have ten minutes?” Nate asks.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “We should, uh, probably put clothes on.”

“No,” Nate whines.

“I know, man,” Mikey says sympathetically. “But we gotta.”

“True,” Nate says. “Gotta make a good impression on the folks.”

Mikey gives him a weird look as he gets up off the bed. “You’ve met my parents plenty of times.”

“Yeah, but like– this is my first time meeting them as ‘the boyfriend,’ y’know? Also, toss me my clothes.”

“Lazy,” Mikey says, but he does it anyway, and then, his face does something weird. “Whoa.”

“What?” Nate asks.

“Just– boyfriend. I dunno.” He tugs on his boxers.

Nate scooches to sit on the edge of the bed. “Cold feet?” he asks, and he’s mostly joking, but still, like, mildly concerned.

Mikey shakes his head. “No, just, cool word,” he says, and Nate can see that he’s grinning, a little.

“Yeah,” Nate says, smiling, and then Mikey walks over and presses a kiss to Nate’s lips, which is cute, and then it escalates into full-on making out, and–

“Dinner,” Nate says, pulling away. “I have to get dressed.”

“Unfortunately,” Mikey says.

Nate kisses him one more time, except then Mikey kisses Nate one more time, and then it turns into this whole awesome mess where they can’t stop kissing each other, and it’s the most ridiculous thing ever, and Nate fucking loves it, even if they do end up sitting down at the table a few minutes late.

But it’s a great dinner, because Mikey’s parents do really like Nate already, and the fact that Mikey’s holding his hand under the table is really just icing on the cake.

* * *

They don’t talk about it after dinner, because there’s more life-changingly good sex to be had.

They’re not quite as on edge as they were before, because they’ve had some time to cool off, but Mikey is still Mikey, and Nate is still obsessed with him, so he decides to see how long he can spend going down on him.

Like, they use a timer. It's pretty legit. 

“38 minutes and 28.6 seconds,” Mikey says, his voice rough and worn out.

“New record,” Nate says– or, he tries to say, but his voice is really fucking hoarse, and his jaw is sore, but, like, in a good way.

“You good?” Mikey asks, looking down.

Nate nods, and he smiles, even though it kind of hurts.

* * *

The next morning, Ryan rolls his eyes so hard that Nate’s legitimately concerned for his optical health, but Nate’s still in the post-morning sex afterglow, so he really doesn’t care.

When they go back upstairs after breakfast, Mikey checks his phone.

“Anything interesting?” Nate says.

“Nah,” Mikey says. “Dylan’s being lame in the groupchat.”

“What kind of lame?” Nate asks.

“Y’know, like, sappy and shit,” Mikey says. “Oh, shit, I didn’t win you a gold medal. That was gonna be your Christmas gift.”

“You were gonna give me a gold medal from World Juniors,” Nate says flatly, because he doesn’t believe that for a second.

“Well, no,” Mikey says. “I was gonna let you, like… interact with it.”

“Interact with it?” Nate asks.

“Okay, so– I would’ve had to check if it were, like, bad luck, but it would have been kind of cool if we had literal gold medal sex.”

“What, with you wearing it? I feel like that would be heavy. Like, physically.”

“We could have worked something out,” Mikey says.

“I mean, I’m not disagreeing,” Nate says. “You have a medal, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s silver. You don’t fuck someone in a silver medal.”

“Only gold?”

“Only gold.”

“Who makes these rules?” Nate asks.

“That one’s just common sense,” Mikey says. “Like, y’know, you want to celebrate the ultimate victory.”

“How were you gonna check that gold medal sex isn’t bad luck?” Nate asks.

“Dylan,” Mikey says, as if that explains it all. Actually, now that Nate’s thinking about it, that’s definitely the kind of thing Dylan would know.

“Fair enough,” Nate says.

“So, anyway, your gift,” Mikey says. “Of course, I got you this–” he goes over to his still-half-full suitcase and digs through it, before he pulls out a small keychain of teddy bear wearing a Habs t-shirt. “From the airport.”

“You know me so well,” Nate says, and he opens his hand for Mikey to toss him the bear. “Aw, he’s cute!”

“What’re you gonna name him?” Mikey asks.

“Tinkerbell,” Nate says, not even thinking about it.

“Awesome,” Mikey says. “I also, uh, made you a playlist?”

“A playlist?”

“Like… you know. Romantic music, or just, like, us-music. It’s adorable. I was gonna, like, put it on a CD and hand it to you, but I made it on Spotify, so I couldn’t actually do that? So I wrote out the songs on it and–” he reaches into his pocket. “Here, your card.”

It’s a folded piece of paper, with the names of songs typed out in order and printed. There are music note stickers, and random doodles and hashtags all over the page.

“You’re literally the biggest dork I’ve ever met,” Nate says. “And you totally just did this because you found stickers and went with the theme.”

“Maybe,” Mikey says. “Still cute, though.”

“Oh, totally,” Nate says, and then Mikey has this cocky grin in his face, so Nate just has to kiss it away.

* * *

The next few weeks are fucking incredible, except for the part where they don’t talk about the soulmate thing.

Or, maybe they’re incredible _because_ they don’t talk about the soulmate thing.

Either way, Nate takes Mikey on a date, and they get one milkshake with two straws, even though it’s January and Mikey keeps fake-complaining that it’s too cold for frozen beverages. But Nate insists that it’s too cute an opportunity to pass up, so Mikey relents, and is a total fucking hypocrite, because he insists on taking a ton of pictures.

Mikey’s playing ridiculously too, and that’s definitely a World Juniors thing and not a Nate-and-Mikey thing, because Nate’s playing decently, but Mikey’s on fire, and it’s incredibly hot.

Which means they end up making out… everywhere.

“Oh my god,” Gibby says, “We’re on the bus.”

“Everyone else is asleep,” Mikey whispers, pulling his mouth away from Nate’s, but leaving his hand on the inside of Nate’s thigh.

“Clearly I’m not,” Gibby says. “Seriously.”

“He got a hat trick,” Nate says. “What did you expect?”

“I expected you to not make out on the bus,” Gibby replies. “Is it seriously that hard?”

“Hat trick,” Nate says, shrugging.

“You heard him,” Mikey says.

“This should be a fine,” Gibby says. “How is this not a fine? Is there, like, a soulmate clause?”

Mikey’s hand freezes on Nate’s leg, and then he removes it quickly. Nate looks down.

“Uh,” Nate says. “We’re– it’s not that kind of thing.”

At least Gibby has the decency to look mortified. “Oh, shit, sorry, I just assumed– uh, yeah,” he says.

“You know what happens when you assume,” Mikey says, and Nate’s a little too uncomfortable to actually laugh, but he does manage a quiet snort.

They play it off easily enough, and Gibby pretends to sleep for the rest of the bus ride, so Nate and Mikey do get to make out some more, but still, they’re probably done not talking about the soulmate thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -earning that rating at last   
> -we're the home stretch yo. thank you to people who are reading this as it updates??? it's mind-boggling to me, i love y'all so much, double updates tomorrow!


	7. Chapter 7

**(Mikey)**

So, people have this idea of what Mikey’s like: soft-spoken, sarcastic, direct, obsessed with Nate.

Which means that talking about soulmate shit shouldn’t be scary, probably.

Mikey has never had a problem with going for what he wants, once he knows what he wants, until now. The figuring-out part is the hard part, but Mikey’s known what he wants since he saw Nate’s soulmark, since _before_ he saw Nate’s soulmark.

And, jesus christ, Mikey’s only ever wanted two things, and Nate is one of them.

He won’t lose Nate if they’re not soulmates, probably. Or, at least, he doesn’t intend to. But it might not be as easy as saying “fuck you” to fate and going for it anyway.

It’s still worth it, though. Nate’s worth it. Mikey-and-Nate are worth it, and they always have been.

Still, when Mikey sits Nate down to initiate a long conversation about soulmates, he fully intends to say, “Listen, I know we’ve been avoiding it, but, like, we’ve gotta talk about this.”

Instead, he just says, “I love you.”

Which isn’t the first time he’s said it to Nate, but it’s the first time he’s said it as Nate’s boyfriend, and it’s been less than a month since their first date, but whatever.

Or, not whatever, because he just told Nate he loves him, which is the opposite of whatever. That’s like, a huge fucking deal, and Nate’s just sort of blinking at him and–

“I mean– we should talk about this whole soulmate thing,” Mikey says, looking at his feet.

“Okay,” Nate says. “Well, uh, I don’t know. If we should, uh, check.”

“Oh,” Mikey says.

“I mean, it’s just– it would be really shitty if we weren’t– and then, like, if we were–”

Mikey’s stomach sinks. “Oh,” he says. “Are you– do you not know if you, uh, want it to be?”

“We _just_ started dating,” Nate says, which both is and isn’t an answer.

“I mean, technically,” Mikey says. “But, like– c’mon. It’s _us._ ”

“Yeah, and I don’t– I don’t want to end this because we’re not soulmates,” Nate says. “I don’t care if that’s, like, destiny telling us we’re shitty as a couple.”

“Well, yeah,” Mikey says. “We wouldn’t break up.”

“Don’t I get a say?” Nate asks.

“Do you want to break up?” Mikey counters.

“No, of course not.”

“Alright, then we wouldn’t.”

“But we’d have soulmates.”

“Fuck that,” Mikey says, because he was kind of ambivalent going into this conversation, but now he’s, like, convinced, because _fuck that_. “Who knows, maybe we’re meant to be with each other and have other soulmates. Maybe we have, like, an arrangement, I don’t know.”

“That sounds complicated,” Nate says.

“Yeah, well, we’d manage,” Mikey says. “I’d, like, make a spreadsheet. I’d learn how to make a spreadsheet. Whatever.”

“Do you– have you actually considered that we might not be soulmates?” Nate says.

“Yes,” Mikey says, defensively.

“But like, seriously,” Nate says. “Have you sat down and thought about it, and like, all the shitty parts? Worst case scenario?”

“This isn’t a hypothetical,” Mikey says. “We have names. On our wrists. Either they’re each others’, which means that we’re meant to be, or they’re not, and we’re gonna grow old and die with other people. Like, whatever. Maybe, like, fate couldn’t decide who I was meant to be with, so it flipped a coin.” He’s kind of ranting, talking with his hands and pacing back and forth, all fired up.

“Would you even have a soulmark, then?” Nate asks.

“I don’t fucking know,” Mikey says. “No one does. But– listen, there are things that happen, right? And we can’t do shit about that. There is a world that exists and events that, like, occur, and that’s just a thing. We can see that we aren’t soulmates and just… ignore it.”

“It would change things,” Nate says. “Not, like, right now, but– but eventually it would.”

“No shit,” Mikey says. “Things have changed before, and we’re still fine.”

“I guess.”

“Also, I told you I loved you,” Mikey says. “I did mean that. Just, so you know.”

“Your wristguard fell off,” Nate says.

Mikey blinks, and looks down at his feet to see the torn up, doodled-on rectangle stuck to the top of his shoe.

“Oh,” he says. “It was kinda falling off before.”

“Yeah,” Nate says. “I, uh, noticed.”

Mikey stuffs his left hand in his pocket. “Do you love me?” he asks.

“Aren’t you going to deal with your wrist first?” Nate replies.

“No, because this is more important. I’m proving a point,” Mikey says.

“Jesus–”

“You can say no, or that you’re not ready, just– stop dodging the question.”

“You were just freaking out about soulmate stuff,” Nate says.

“Well, kinda, but that doesn’t make it less true,” Mikey says. “I like, definitely love you, dude.”

“Okay, but, like, it’s hard to say it back when we’re fighting,” Nate says.

“Are we fighting?” Mikey asks.

“We’re not _not_ fighting,” Nate says. “You’re all– yelling, and shit.”

“Oh, sorry,” Mikey says, and then he takes a deep breath. “Okay, soulmate shit aside, I love you a lot, and I’m gonna stick around for a while, unless you decide you hate me and want me gone, which would be really weird, for you.” He smiles, and then Nate smiles back, all dimples and happiness and _Nate._

“I love you too,” Nate says, grabbing Mikey’s free hand and pulling him in closer. He’s sitting on the edge of Mikey’s bed, so Mikey’s taller, for once. On instinct, he pulls his hand out of his pocket to run a hand through Nate’s hair, because that’s always the right choice to make, except that means he’s staring right at his unguarded wrist, and after all that, he sees it by accident.

One second, he’s looking at Nate, whose smile is so full of pure fucking joy and dimples and love, and the next, he’s– he’s looking at _Nate._

Like, the word “Nate,” which is printed on his wrist.

His eyes lock onto it, and Nate realizes what’s happening a second after Mikey does.

“Shit,” Mikey says, pulling his hand away from Nate’s hair and bringing it up to his face. “Sorry, I didn’t–” He can’t stop staring at it, the same capital “N” that Mikey never actually managed to forget, and the simple block letters that follow. “Shit.” He’s kind of breathless.

“Mike?” Nate asks, his grip tightening around Mikey’s free hand.

“I should– if you don’t want to know, I should go,” Mikey says.

“Well, now it’s– if you know, I should,” Nate says.

“It’s up to you,” Mikey says.

“I do want this,” Nate says. “No matter what, I don’t– even if it’s someone else.”

“Okay,” Mikey says.

“I wanted this when I thought it _was_ someone else,” Nate says. “I love you. I love you a lot. That’s– that’s just how it is. I was gonna say it soon, too, but– I dunno. I’m in love with you, though.”

 _In love_ sounds very different from _love,_ and Mikey looks up. “I’m really, really in love with you.” He’s smiling, and also feels kind of like crying, because all of this is a lot, in the most awesome way imaginable.

“I’m really, really, really in love with you,” Nate counters.

“I’m really, really, re–”

“Should I check?” Nate says.

“If you want,” Mikey says. 

“I want to flip a coin,” Nate says. “To see if I should.”

“Why?”

“Seems fairest.”

Mikey shrugs, and he actually _is_ gonna cry, so he wipes at his eyes with the hand that’s not currently holding Nate’s, careful to conceal his wrist, this time.

Nate grabs a coin from his wallet, a nice, shiny one, and places it on his thumb. “Heads I check, tails I don’t,” he says.

“Gotcha,” Mikey says.

“Alright, here we go.” He takes a deep breath and flips it neatly, trapping it on the back of his left hand and holding it there.

After a beat of Nate’s hand not moving, Mikey says, “Are you gonna check?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Nate says, and then looks at the coin. “Tails.”

“So, you’re not gonna check the mark,” Mikey says.

“That’s what the coin says,” Nate agrees.

Mikey’s nodding, and he’s about to say something, except then, Nate turns over his hand, the coin dropping to the ground and clattering, and then he’s ripping off his wristguard and–

“Ow, fucking _fuck,_ ” Nate says, gripping his wrist. “That shit hurts.”

“It’s adhesive. I think you’re supposed to use remover if you wanna take it off early,” Mikey says.

“I was trying to live in the moment, man,” Nate says, giving Mikey this cute little glare, but he gingerly removes his hand from his wrist.

Mikey’s surprised at how relieved to see his own name– “Mikey,” too, not “Michael” or “Mike.” It’s the same simple block letters, and it’s _his name,_ on Nate’s wrist, proof that they belong together, which Mikey’s always sort of known, but now he knows he was right.

“It’s–” Nate says, looking up with wide eyes.

Mikey smiles, nods, and holds up his wrist.

“Thank fucking god,” Nate says, and he pulls Mikey in close and draws him into his lap, which is Mikey’s favorite place to be, and then he kisses him, hard.

Mikey wants to say something sappy, but Nate is right here and incredibly hot, and also his soulmate, so instead of, _I’m excited to spend the rest of my life with you,_ he instead says, “Do you think soulmate sex is any different?”

“Let’s find out,” Nate says.

It isn’t different, really, except that when Nate goes down on him, Mikey keeps catching these awesome glimpses of his name on Nate’s wrist, and about halfway through, Mikey realizes that he doesn’t have to bite back the “I love you”s that always creep into his mind during sex. Really, it’s more liberating than anything else.

“Fuck, that’ll never stop being good,” Mikey says, after he’s finished in Nate’s throat.

“I try my best,” Nate says, his voice thick with faux-modesty, and Mikey wonders how they even thought for a second that they might not be soulmates.

* * *

The thing is, they keep going long after that blowjob, because when you find out your best friend, who’s now your boyfriend, is also your soulmate, and also loves you, you tend to celebrate. With a lot of wonderful, varied sex.

Which is, like, great. Like, really great. Like, really, really, _really_ great, until hockey practice the next day, when you’re being constantly reminded of just how much sex you had yesterday.

Or, at least, that’s what’s happening to Mikey.

Nate too, honestly, except Mikey’s definitely feeling it more, because Nate had managed to fuck him three times in the space of 2 hours. Which, like, had been awesome, except now he can’t really skate without feeling it.

Coach asks him if he’s hurt, and Mikey’s pretty sure his face invents a new shade of red as he stammers out some excuse about saving his energy for their next game, which is two days away.

“You alright, Clouder?” Owen asks in the locker room.

Mikey gulps and prepares to give some awkward answer and avoid eye contact, except he hears Gibby chime in first. “Yeah, you and Nate go at it too hard last night?”

He’s joking, except it takes Mikey a second to realize that, because, well, yeah. So instead of reacting, he just sort of freezes and opens and then closes his mouth, like, four times.

“Wait, actually?” Owen says.

“No,” Mikey says, except it sounds like a blatant lie, even to him.

“Oh my god,” Gibby says, and he sounds gleeful. He turns around and calls over his shoulder. “Hey, Bas, is it true?”

Mikey makes eye contact with Nate, and he must look helpless, because Nate walks right over to Mikey’s stall like a knight in fucking armor.

“Stop bothering my boyfriend,” Nate says, throwing an arm around Mikey.

“Stop giving him sex injuries,” Gibby says.

“It’s not an _injury,_ ” Mikey says. “I mean, I’m not injured.”

“Just sore?” Gibby quips.

Owen wrinkles his nose. “No offense, but I really don’t want to think about you two having sex.”

“Please don’t,” Mikey says.

Nate squeezes Mikey a bit. “Isn’t there a rule about talking about our sex life in the locker room?”

“Only when Ryan’s around,” Gibby says. “He’s in the shower now. Anyway, this is _definitely_ a fine.”

“You have no evidence,” Nate says. “Baseless accusation. I’ll see you in court.”

“Whoa, are we finally fining them?” Nic says, walking up to them. “Never thought I’d live to see the day. What’s the charge?”

“Nothing,” Mikey says.

“Nate broke Mikey with sex,” Gibby says.

“I’m not fucking broken, jesus,” Mikey says. “Can we all stop talking about this?”

“Right before a game?” Nic says, because apparently, no, they can’t.

“We have two days,” Mikey says.

“Don’t incriminate us, babe,” Nate says. Mikey’s never heard Nate call him ‘babe’ before, but he kinda digs it.

“Okay, that’s definitely a confession,” Gibby says.

“You’ll be hearing from my attorney,” Nate says, which is confusing to Mikey, because he thought Nate was doing a bit where he was the attorney, except Ryan walks out of the shower, and Mikey sees an out.

“Hi Ry,” he says, way too loud to be normal.

Ryan gives him a weird look, then walks over. “What’s going on?”

“You’re the only not awful person on this team besides your brother,” Nate says.

“Pretty much,” Mikey says.

“What, are they chirping you guys about being soulmates, or whatever?” Ryan says, rolling his eyes.

Everyone else kind of freezes.

“You’re soulmates?” Owen asks, looking between them. 

“Uh,” Mikey says. He and Nate share a look, and then he says, “Kinda? I mean, yeah.”

“Since when?” Nic asks.

“Since last night,” Ryan says. “Right?”

“How did you know?” Mikey asks.

“Your nasty old wristguard was in the garbage,” Ryan says. “Then you couldn’t stop smiling, so.”

“Smart kid,” Nate says.

“Holy shit,” Gibby says. “I mean, I called it, but still, congrats, boys.”

“I think we all called it,” Nic says.

“Okay, but I called it a year ago,” Gibby says. “Ask Alex.”

“Dude, I didn’t even call it a year ago,” Mikey says.

“I did,” Nate says, and Mikey gives him a skeptical look. “What? I mean, not, like, fully, but if someone told me I had a soulmate, I’d have guessed you.”

“Fine,” Nic says. “Flirting, come on, that’s a fine.”

“No, he’s bullshitting,” Mikey says. “No way. Nate hated soulmates a year ago.”

“I liked you, though,” Nate says.

“You did not,” Mikey says.

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

It goes on like that for a few minutes, and the guys drift away, apparently bored now that the chirping is done.

“You’re welcome,” Ryan says to Mikey as they head to the car after practice. 

“What?” Mikey says.

“For distracting them,” Ryan says. “With the soulmate stuff.”

“That was on purpose?” Mikey asks.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Gibby’s way too fucking loud, I could hear him from the shower.”

“You are literally the best brother in the entire fucking universe,” Mikey says truthfully.

Ryan just smiles. “I’m happy for you guys, though. Even if I didn’t get to put money on it.”

“Fuck off,” Mikey says, punching him.

“But I’m still the best brother?”

“Yes.”

“Better than Matty?”

“Matt’s not here, so,” Mikey says.

Ryan nods. “Fair enough. Are you gonna tell everyone about soulmate stuff?”

“Oh, totally,” Mikey says. “It’s awesome.”

“Are you like, scared, at all?” Ryan asks.

Mikey shrugs. “I mean… I would be? But it’s Nate. I sort of– you know. He was gonna be there forever anyway, so.”

“That’s gross,” Ryan says. “But cute.”

“Yeah, well,” Mikey says, and then smiles in a way that probably deserves an eyeroll, but Ryan doesn’t say anything.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -posting this from mobile whoops  
> -epilogue and endnotes later today!


	8. Chapter 8

**(Nate)**

“I’m gonna change my name in your contacts,” Nate says.

Mikey shrugs, not looking up from his laptop. “Do what you want.”

“How does ‘Nate the Soulmate’ sound?” Nate asks.

“Awful,” Mikey says.

“I’m gonna do it,” Nate says.

“No, wait,” Mikey says, sitting up. “Soulnate.”

“Oh my god,” Nate says.

“I’m never calling you my soulmate again, this is a much better word.”

“If I’m soulnate, you’re soulmikey,” Nate says. “It’s only fair.”

“Does that mean we’re soulbuddies?” Mikey says.

“I like the way you think,” Nate says. “I guess this is our new brand.”

“Awesome. I’ll order the custom shirts,” Mikey says.

Nate can’t actually tell if he’s joking, because Mikey’s doing his classic crooked smile and clicking away, which might mean he’s done with the bit, but might also mean he’s on, like, CustomInk or whatever. “We’re officially the funniest boyfriends-slash-soulbuddies in the entire universe,” Nate says.

“No shit,” Mikey says. “We should tell people.”

“What?” Nate asks.

“About us,” Mikey says. “Y’know, being soulmates.”

“The team knows, and so do our parents,” Nate says. “Who’s there left to tell?”

“Our other friends, I don’t know. The world at large.”

“The world at large?” Nate raises an eyebrow.

There’s a beat, and then Mikey says, “We’d get _so_ many likes if we put something on Insta.”

“Ah, I see,” Nate says. “You just want the likes.”

“I’m a numbers guy, what can I say,” Mikey says, giving Nate this cocky grin, even though he’s full of shit and they both know it.

“You are definitively not a numbers guy,” Nate says.

“I would’ve been great at math if I wasn’t a hockey player, I bet,” Mikey says.

“But you are a hockey player, so.”

“What if my backup plan is being a numbers guy?”

“Do numbers guys make money? Because that would go well with my backup plan of being an heiress-slash-socialite.”

“I think you’d be a golddigger, not an heiress,” Mikey says.

“Whatever, professionally rich and hot,” Nate says.

Mikey considers that for a second, before he says, “Yeah, you could go pro. You are really hot.” His smile softens a little bit, and he just looks so cute that Nate has to kiss him.

Then, because Mikey’s a little shit, he takes a picture of them.

“Did you just do that so you could take a selfie of us kissing for Instagram?” Nate asks.

“No, I just really like kissing you.”

“So the likes weren’t a factor?”

“They weren’t _not_ a factor,” Mikey says.

“Dude, you can’t post a kissing selfie on Instagram. We have a brand to maintain.”

“What if I captioned it ironically?”

“There is no amount of irony in the world that would counteract the damage that would do,” Nate says.

They end up taking a bunch of different pictures instead, and Nate actually uses one of the ones they take– the two of them, straight-faced, holding up their wrists and looking at the camera– but Mikey, because he’s the worst, uses an old, terribly-angled picture he took of Nate.

“I hate you,” Nate says, looking up from where he’s drafting his post to look at Mikey’s. “Actually, no, I soulhate you.”

“I’m using that as a hashtag.”

“Please do,” Nate says. “I’m using the other ones, so you can’t.”

“Which other ones?”

“All of them.”

“Rude.”

“You love me anyway,” Nate says, and he can’t help but smile when he says it.

“Guess so,” Mikey says, but he’s smiling too.

Nate’s… weirdly nervous, about posting the picture, which is dumb, because he and Mikey have never been a secret, not even when there wasn’t a Nate-and-Mikey, in any official sense. But there’s a difference between not not doing something and doing something, so Nate hits “post” as Mikey’s still typing, and then puts down his phone and says, “You should send me that picture of us.”

“Which one?”

“The kissing one.”

“What, you’re not opposed to kissing in pictures, anymore?” Mikey says, still in banter mode.

“I like it,” Nate says, totally earnest.

Mikey looks up, and his expression melts into something soft and sweet. “I like _you,_ ” he says.

“I like you too,” Nate says, a little too hypnotized by Mikey’s smile to be witty.

Mikey looks down at his phone and says, “What are the rules on cheek kissing pictures?”

“Still kinda sappy,” Nate says, but he doesn’t fully disapprove of the idea. “Do it as an album, make it the second one.”

“Good call,” Mikey says, and Nate leans in and kisses his cheek as Mikey laughs. “Wait for the camera, dude.”

“But what if I just wanted to kiss you?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Who knows,” Nate says, shrugging, and then he leans in to kiss Mikey’s cheek again.

Mikey does eventually get a mildly cute picture, even though they’re mostly blurry, but Mikey’s mid-laugh, his face red and his grin wide and uncontained.

He looks so happy, and it’s because of Nate, and Nate can’t believe that he can make Mikey smile like that, that he _gets_ to make Mikey smile like that. Mikey turns off his phone and looks at Nate, and Nate can see that he’s a little nervous, too.

“I’m so fucking excited for this,” Nate says.

“What, for the likes?” Mikey says, teasing lightly, but there’s a shade of something serious in his voice.

“No, for this.” Nate gestures between them. “Being together. Being your soulmate. This relationship. Y’know.”

“We’re already together,” Mikey points out.

“Okay, but– I dunno. We get to keep dating each other. Forever.”

“For the rest of our lives, yeah,” Mikey says.

“And I’m excited for that,” Nate says simply. “For all of that.”

“You’re excited to spend the rest of your life with me,” Mikey says, like he’s trying to wrap his head around it. Nate wonders if it was too sappy or too much, but then Mikey’s face bursts out into this smile that’s bright and teasing and happy and huge. “You are such a romantic motherfucker.”

“You do this to me. It’s your fault, really. You inspire the romance,” Nate says.

“God, I love you,” Mikey says, and then he kisses Nate hard. It’s messy, and neither of them can stop smiling, because they can never really stop smiling around each other, but it’s also kind of the most awesome thing in the world, so Nate just keeps on smiling, and Mikey does too.

* * *

***

* * *

**_naterbastian_ ** _nate got a soulmate everyone #soulnate #soulmikey #soulbuddies_

_[select comments on naterbastian’s post:]_

**_duber18_ ** _finally @dylstrome19 @taylorraddysh @hockeycanada_

 **_dylstrome19_ ** _@mikeymcleod9 explain_

 **_dylstrome19_ ** _@mcdavid97 wheres my post_

 **_nichague_ ** _#soulbuddies_

 **_stephengibby97_ ** _awful @alexnylander_

 **_naterbastian_ ** _@dylstrome19 mike isn’t taking questions rn i can forward any concerns you might have to him tho!_

 **_naterbastian_ ** _@nichague @stephengibby97 #leadership_

 **_alexnylander_ ** _cute!_

 **_taylorraddysh_ ** _wow so happy 2gether_

_[...]_

**_mikeymcleod9_ ** _i never said i wasn’t taking questions @naterbastian_

 **_mikeymcleod9_ ** _4real @mcdavid97 wheres stromers post #getstromerapost_

 **_naterbastian_ ** _#getstromerapost_

 **_dylstrome19_ ** _im unliking this_

 **_mikeymcleod9_ ** _im telling trish_

_[...]_

**_naterbastian_ ** _@mikeymcleod9 did u just like this pic_

 **_mikeymcleod9_ ** _maybe #sorrynotsorry #ilikeyouirl_

* * *

**_mikeymcleod9_ ** _my #soulmate #soulnate #soulhates these pictures_

_[select comments on mikeymcleod9’s post:]_

**_dylstrome19_ ** _@duber18 @taylorraddysh even worse_

 **_taylorraddysh_ ** _@dylstrome19 kid doesn’t know his angles at all_

 **_duber18_ ** _you gotta @hockeycanada_

 **_dylstrome19_ ** _sorry @hockeycanada_

 **_dylstrome19_ ** _strome-mcleod gossip pool didn’t come thru on this one_

 **_mikeymcleod9_ ** _did trish not tell u @dylstrome19_

 **_dylstrome19_ ** _no #betrayed_

_[...]_

**_nichague_ ** _i too #soulhate this pic_

 **_owentippett_ ** _^_

 **_stephengibby97_ ** _^^_

_[...]_

**_naterbastian_ ** _@mcdavid97 #getstromerapost_

 **_mikeymcleod9_ ** _#getstromerapost_

 **_mikeymcleod9_ ** _@duber18 @taylorraddysh @stephens2727 @hockeycanada @nhl @mcdavid97 #getstromerapost_

_[...]_

_**njdevils**  _

_[...]_

**_mcdavid97_   **

**_naterbastian_ ** _#gotstromerapost #didgoodtodayboys #mcsoulmates_

_[...]_

**_mikeymcleod9_ ** _did u unlike this pic @naterbastian_

 **_naterbastian_ ** _#revenge #ilikeyouirl_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -"later today" meant ten minutes later apparently  
> -!!!!!  
> -psst they're soulmates  
> -NOW WITH FULL BONUS CONTENT AT LAST

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you!
> 
>  **Spoilery stuff/untagged relationships and characters:**  
>  background Strome/McDavid, mentions of past Strome/Marner, background ambiguous Raddysh/Stephens (kinda).  
> The untagged characters are Dylan Strome, Alex Nylander, Pierre-Luc Dubois, Ryan McLeod, Stephen Gibson, Nic Hague, Owen Tippett, Taylor Raddysh, Mitchell Stephens, Connor McDavid, Mat Barzal, Thomas Chabot, and mentions of Mitch Marner.  
>  **Bonus Content:**  
>  -Wow, a lot sure just happened.  
> -What even are Raddy and Stephens getting up to? A lot of casual sex and Getting Too Attached™ on the part of one T. Raddysh. Mitchell “boyfriend material in the streets, terrified of commitment in the sheets” Stephens, is what we see here. Dylan Strome is consulted on the matter many times, eventually.  
> -Mitch/Auston in this ‘verse is a lot of Mitch seeing Auston’s nameless wrist and Auston Matthews Pining™ that goes on until the Centennial Classic (when it finally says “Mitch” on his wrist). He still pines after that, just, for his soulmate. William Nylander has opinions on all of it. (Don’t get me started on Mo/Gards oh my gosh)  
> -The part where Nate accidentally sleeps in and Mikey is at his house? Ha, yeah, Mikey sent Nate a bunch of texts, going between angry and terrified, and also might have confessed a few feelings to him. Or, like, he came pretty close. He sneaks into Nate’s room and deletes them while Nate is sound asleep, then sits in the hallway outside Nate’s door for two hours and waits. Nate’s mom knows exactly what’s up.  
> -Nate and Mikey… never, like, formally tell their teammates that they’re dating? The soulmate thing happens, but oh man, when Nate calls Mikey his boyfriend on New Year’s, everyone sort of pretends they already knew but internally they’re all like “wait since when are they boyfriends what the fuck.” A bunch of them had seen Mikey and Nate kissing after World Juniors but they’d all assumed they were just. Secretly banging? And feeling particularly reckless? I don’t even know.  
> -I never see fining/kangaroo court in OHL fic, but Nate and Mikey avoiding fines on technicalities is pretty iconic once they get together. Like, arguing that making out is a “bro move” or citing the Hat Trick Loophole, or trying to push through litigation that states that if one of them is crying, a romantic gesture isn’t fineable (there were eyedrops involved). Also, notable instances like [this one.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFAGUAl8lxE)  
> -Nate does get Mikey tearaway pants for his birthday. In fact, he buys an entire sexy cop costume, including handcuffs. It’s hilarious, until Mikey puts it on and looks very much Good and Not Funny At All, Not One Bit.  
> -The playlist Mikey makes for Nate has “Dick In A Box” on it _three times_  
>  -I want to see the Strome-McLeod groupchats during this (because in this ‘verse, there is more than one. The set of all sets of Strome-McLeod groupchats is the powerset of the Strome-McLeod clan.)  
> -Mitch and Dylan's years-long bros with benefits arrangement? Iconic. Mitch trying to play matchmaker for Dylan and Connor at the draft, while he was still hooking up with Dylan? Incredibly iconic.  
> -Mikey was ready to just... treat soulmarks like McLeods treat drafts, and pretty much say "fuck you, I do what I want." Nate was really on board.  
> Dylan: you guys are just gonna... McLeod fate?  
> Mikey: why isn't there a verb for your family's name?  
> Dylan: stop avoiding the question, Michael.  
> Mikey: stop Stroming the question, Dylan.  
> -I mean, whatever force determines soulmates probably wanted to scream at these two. Like, Nate would NEVER have a soulmate who wasn't Mikey. He doesn't like the idea of soulmates! He just wants Mikey, and if being Mikey's soulmate means he gets Mikey, then he's perfectly happy with that. But just... having a soulmate? A general one? Oh god, please no.  
> -Mikey's the opposite, kinda– he's open to the idea of having a soulmate because it could be Nate. Once the reality of it Maybe Not Being Nate sinks in, he is much less on board with this potential soulmate.  
> -[Dylan’s soulmark comes in the day he and Connor get the invite for Nate and Mikey’s wedding.](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/post/164656246249/who-proposes-between-mikey-and-nate-how-does-it)  
> -Mikey and Nate eventually adopt a Great Dane and name her Paris.  
> -Nathan Bastian, twenty years in the future, waking up in a cold sweat: _How did we never think of soulskate?_  
>  Michael McLeod, mostly asleep, from the other side of the bed: We did, babe. Go back to sleep.
> 
>  
> 
> [Come talk to me on tumblr!](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/)


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